\    \  \ 


i   \ 


•by- 
OCTAVE 
THANET 

m 

ILLVSTRATED 
•BY- 

ABFROST- 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OE  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/storiesofwesternOOthan 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 


STORIES    OF     -     WESTERN    TOWN. 

i  a  m  o ,     .     $  i .  2  s 

\J  I O  N . 
stral  -       B.     Frost.       iamo, 

-  .  .  .  I  .  O  0 

•      /ENTURE     IN      PHOTOGRAPHY. 
-'■  strat 


It    was    Tommy    Fitzmaunce,    grown    into   a   handsome  young   man. 


STORIES    OF 
A     WESTERN     TOWN 


BY 

OCTAVE    THANET 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  A.    B.  FROST 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1893 


C0P1  RIGHT,   l  -  )3,  BY 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S  SON< 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


CONTENTS 

The  Besetment  of  Kurt  Lieders 

Page 

3 

The   Face  of  Failure       . 

■      43 

Tommy  and   Thomas        , 

.      go 

Mother   Emeritus      . 

-    '35 

An   Assisted  Providence 

■    17' 

Harry  Lossing          . 

■    '94 

LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


It  was  Tommy  Fitzmaurice,  grown  into  a  handsome  young 

man, Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"Mo,  it  was  not  fair  to  thee — I   know  that  now,"     .  i 

"  He  swore  at  me.''             .......  6 

If  they  could  not  get  along  decently,  they  would  better  part,  19 

None  of  the  "  boys''  came  to  see  him,  except  Carl  Olsen,       .  23 

"  He  wiped  dishes  as  he  did  everything,  neatly,  slowly,"       .  29 

"Hang  himself?"  stammered  Lossing,         ....  39 

"Is  that  your  best  suit?"           ......  4=5 

Nelson  knew  how  run-down  everything  was,     .         .         -55 

Money,  it  appeared,  was  "tight,"      .....  57 

Nelson  had  no  appetite,      .......  63 


x  L  IS  T  OF  1 1.  LI  TS  TRA  TIOXS 

■ 
"There  came  n  photographic  artist  in  the  village,"    .         .       7^ 

"Well,   I   never!"  said  Miss  Brown,  ...       85 

At  this  period  Mrs.   Fitzmaurice  was  his  barber,  .  .       91 

Three    Kickapoo    Indians,    splendid    in    paint   and    feathers. 

peacefully  vending  the  "  Famous  Kickapoo  Sagwa,"    .        o; 
Tommy's  valedictory,  .         .         .         .         .         .         .100 

"She  has  visiting  cards  now,  and  pays  visits  once  a  year,"     114 
Tommy's  funny  picture,      .  .  .  .  .  .  .110 

"The  cake  was  just  splendid,"  .  .  .  .  .1*0 

"We  put  it  out  together  with  flour  out  of  her  flour-barrel,"  147 
"Now,  who  has  mother  picked  up  now:"        .         .  155 

"Mr.  Ferguson  was  doing  wonders  for  the  Russians,"  .  165 
"Ridiculous,  sir,  at  the  figger  of  two  hundred  and  fifty,"  171 
Beside  him  skipped  a  little  man  in  ill-fitting  black,    .  177 

"  Invented  a  little    oven  or  something  to  steam    mattresses 

and  things,-'         .         .         .  .         .         .         .  .188 

"  1   do  believe  it  was  better  than  the  puppies,''  .  .102 


LIST  OF  ILL  US TRA  TLONS  xi 

PACE 

Keeping  the  pig  neat,         .         .         .         .         .  .         .107 

"A  regular  trainer,"            .         .          .         .         .  .         .201 

One  old  German  who  complained  of  everything,  .         .     227 

Mr.  Armorer  got  out,  and  they  left  the  elevator  to  its  fate,     2;; 

Mrs.   Ellis  was  kind  enough    to  put  her    fingers  in  her  ears 

and  turn  her  back,      .         .         .         .         .         .         .239 


STORIES    OF 
A    WESTERN     TOWN 


THE     BESETMENT     OF 
KURT     LIEDERS 

A  SILVER  rime  glistened  all  down  the  street. 
There  was  a  drabble  of  dead  leaves  on  the 
sidewalk  which  was  of  wood,  and  on  the  roadway 
which  was  of  macadam  and  stiff  mud.  The  wind 
blew  sharply,  for  it  was  a  December  day  and  only 
six  in  the  morning.  Nor  were  the  houses  high 
enough  to  furnish  any  independent  bulwark  ; 
they  were  low,  wooden  dwellings,  the  tallest  a 
bare  two  stories  in  height,  the  majority  only  one 
story.  But  they  were  in  good  painting  and 
repair,  and  most  of  them  had  a  homely  gayety  of 
geraniums  or  bouvardias  in  the  windows.  The 
house  on  the  corner  was  the  tall  house.  It  occu- 
pied a  larger  yard  than  its  neighbors  ;  and  there 
were  lace  curtains  tied  with  blue  ribbons  for  the 
windows  in  the  right  hand  front  room.  The  door 
of  this  house  swung  back  with  a  crash,  and  a 
woman  darted  out.  She  ran  at  the  top  of  her 
speed  to  the  little  yellow  house  farther  down  the 


4  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

street.  Her  blue  calico  gown  clung  about  her 
stout  figure  and  fluttered  behind  her,  revealing 
her  blue  woollen  stockings  and  felt  slippers.  Her 
gray  he. id  was  bare.  As  she  ran  tears  rolled 
down   her  checks  and   she   wrung  her  hand-. 

"  Oh!  (  >h  !  Oh  !  (  Hi,  lieber  Herr  Je!  "  (  >ne 
near  would  have  heard  her  sob,  in  too  distracted 
agitation  to  heed  the  motorneer  of  the  passing 
street-car  who  stared  after  her  at  the  risk  of  his 
car.  or  the  tousled  heads  behind  a  few  curtains. 
She  did  not  stop  until  she  almost  fell  against  the 
door  of  the  yellow  house.  Her  frantic  knocking 
was  answered  by  a  young  woman  in  a  light  and 
artless  costume  of  a  quilted  petticoat  and  a  red 
flannel   sack. 

"  Oh,  gracious  goodness!  Mrs.  Lieders!"  cried 
she. 

Thekla  Lieders  rather  staggered  than  walked  into 
the  room  and  fell  back  on  the  black  haircloth  sofa. 

'•  There,  there,  there."  said  the  young  woman 
while  she  patted  the  broad  shoulders  heaving 
between  sobs  and  short  breath,  "  what  is  it  ?  The 
house  aint   afire  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  oh,  Mrs.  Olsen,  he  has  done  it  again!" 
She  wailed  in   sobs,  like  a  child. 

"Done     it?       Done    what?"    exclaimed     Mrs. 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS  5 

Olscn,  then  her  face  paled.  "  Oh,  my  gracious, 
you   dont  mean   he's  killed  himself — 

"Yes,  he's  killed  himself,  again." 

"And  he's  dead?"  asked  the  other  in  an  awed 
tone. 

Mrs.  Lieders  gulped  down  her  tears.  "  Oh,  not 
so  bad  as  that,  I  cut  him  down,  he  was  up  in  the 
garret  and  I  sus — suspected  him  and  I  run  up 
and — oh.  he  was  there,  a  choking,  and  he  was  so 
mad  !  He  swore  at  me  and — he  kicked  me  when 
I — I  says:  'Kurt,  what  are  you  doing  of?  Hold 
on  till  I  git  a  knife,'  I  says — for  his  hands  was 
just  dangling  at  his  side  ;  and  he  says  nottings 
cause  he  couldn't,  he  was  most  gone,  and  I 
knowed  I  wouldn't  have  time  to  git  no  knife  but 
I  saw  it  was  a  rope  was  pretty  bad  worn  and  so — 
so  I  just  run  and  jumped  and  ketched  it  in  my 
hands,  and  being  I'm  so  fleshy  it  couldn't  stand 
no  more  and  it  broke  !  And,  oh  !  he — he  kicked 
me  when  I  was  try  to  come  near  to  git  the  rope 
off  his  neck  ;  and  so  soon  like  he  could  git  his 
breath  he  swore  at  me " 

"And  you  a  helping  of  him!  Just  listen  to 
that  !  "   cried  the  hearer  indignantly. 

"  So  I  come  here  for  to  git  you  and  Mr.  Olsen 
to  help  me  git  him  down  stairs,  'cause  he  is  too 


6  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

heavy   for  me   to  lift,  and  he   is  so  mad  he  won't 
walk  down   himself." 


He   swore   at  me 


"Yes,  yes,  of  course.  I'll  call  Carl.  Carl  !  dost 
thou  hear  ?  come !  But  did  you  dare  to  leave 
him,  Mrs.  Lieders?"      Part  of  the  time  she  spoke 


THE  BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIE  HERS  7 

in  English,  part  of  the  time  in  her  own  tongue, 
gliding  from  one  to  another,  and  neither  party 
observing  the  transition. 

Mrs.  Lieders  wiped  her  eyes,  saying:  "Oh,  yes, 
Danke  schon,  I  aint  afraid  'cause  I  tied  him  with 
the  rope,  righd  good,  so  he  don't  got  no  chance 
to  move.  He  was  make  faces  at  me  all  the  time 
I  tied  him."  At  the  remembrance,  the  tears 
welled  anew. 

Mrs.  Olsen,  a  little  bright  tinted  woman  with  a 
nose  too  small  for  her  big  blue  eyes  and  chubby 
cheeks,  quivered  with  indignant  sympathy. 

"  Well,  I  did  nefer  hear  of  sooch  a  mean  acting 
man !  "  seemed  to  her  the  most  natural  expres- 
sion ;   but  the  wife   fired,  at   once. 

"  No,  he  is  not  a  mean  man,"  she  cried,  "  no, 
Freda  Olsen,  he  is  not  a  mean  man  at  all !  There 
aint  nowhere  a  better  man  than  my  man  ;  and 
Carl  Olsen,  he  knows  that.  Kurt,  he  always  buys 
a  whole  ham  and  a  whole  barrel  of  flour,  and 
never  less  than  a  dollar  of  sugar  at  a  time!  And 
he  never  gits  drunk  nor  he  never  gives  me  any 
bad  talk.  It  was  only  he  got  this  wanting  to  kill 
himself  on  him,  sometimes." 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  go  put  on  my  things,"  said 
Mrs.  Olsen,  wisely  declining  to  defend  her  posi- 


<S  STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 

tion.  "You  set  right  still  and  warm  yourself, 
and  we'll   be  back"   in   a  minute." 

Indeed,  it  was  hardly  more  than  that  time 
before  both  Carl  Olsen,  who  worked  in  the  same 
furniture  factor}'  as  Kurt  Lieders,  and  was  a 
comely  and  after-witted  giant,  appeared  with 
Mrs.  Olsen   ready   for  the   street. 

lie  nodded  at  Mrs.  Lieders  and  made  a 
gurgling  noise  in  his  throat,  expected  to  convey 
sympathy.  Then,  he  coughed  and  said  that  he 
was  read}',   and  the}'  started. 

Feeling  further  expression  demanded,  Mrs. 
Olsen  asked:  "How  man}'  times  has  he  done 
it.  Mrs.  Lieders?  " 

Mi's.  Lieders  was  trotting  along,  her  anxious 
eyes  on  the  house  in  the  distance,  especially 
on  the  garret  windows.  "  Three  times,"  she 
answered,  not  removing  her  eyes ;  "  onct  he 
tooked  Rough  on  Rats  and  I  found  it  out  and  I 
put  some  apple  butter  in  the  place  of  it,  and  he 
kept  wondering  and  wondering  how  he  didn't  feel 
notings,  and  after  awhile  I  got  him  off  the  notion, 
that  time.  He  wasn't  mad  at  me;  he  just  said: 
'  Well,  I  do  it  some  other  time.  You  see  !  '  but 
he  promised  to  wait  till  I  got  the  spring  house 
cleaning  over,  so  he  could    shake  the  carpets   for 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS  9 

me;  and  by  and  by  he  got  feeling  better.  lie 
was  mad  at  the  boss  and  that  made  him  feel  bad. 
The  next  time  it  was  the  same,  that  time  he 
jumped  into  the  cistern " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Olsen,  with  a  half  grin, 
"  I   pulled   him   out." 

"  It  was  the  razor  he  wanted,"  the  wife  con- 
tinued, "  and  when  he  come  home  and  says  he 
was  going  to  leave  the  shop  and  he  aint  never 
going  back  there,  and  gets  out  his  razor  and 
sharps  it,  I  knowed  what  that  meant  and  I  told 
him  I  got  to  have  some  bluing  and  wouldn't  he 
go  and  get  it  ?  and  he  says,  '  You  won't  git 
another  husband  run  so  free  on  your  errands, 
Thekla,'  and  I  says  I  don't  want  none  ;  and  when 
he  was  gone  I  hid  the  razor  and  he  couldn't  find 
it,  but  that  didn't  mad  him,  he  didn't  say  not- 
ings ;  and  when  I  went  to  git  the  supper  he 
walked  out  in  the  yard  and  jumped  into  the 
cistern,  and  I  heard  the  splash  and  looked  in  and 
there  he  was  trying  to  git  his  head  under,  and  I 
called,  '  For  the  Lord's  sake,  papa !  For  the 
Lord's  sake!'  just  like  that.  And  I  fished  for 
him  with  the  pole  that  stood  there  and  he  was 
sorry  and  caught  hold  of  it  and  give  in,  and  I 
rested    the    pole    agin     the    side    cause    I    wasn't 


10  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

strong  enough  to  h'ist  him  out  ;  and  he  held  on 
whilest  I  run  for  help " 

"  And  I  got  the  ladder  and  he  clum  out,"  said 
the  giant  with  another  grin  of  recollection,  "  he 
was  awful  wet  !  " 

"That  was  a  month  ago,''  said  the  wife,  sol- 
emnly. 

"He  sharped  the  razor  onct,"  said  Mrs.  Lie- 
ders,  "but  he  said  it  was  for  to  shave  him,  and  1 
got  him  to  promise  to  let  the  barber  shave  him 
sometime,  instead.  Here,  Mrs.  Olsen,  you  go 
righd  in,  the  door  aint   locked." 

By  this  time  they  were  at  the  house  door. 
The}'  passed  in  and  ascended  the  stairs  to  the 
second  story,  then  climbed  a  narrow,  ladder-like 
flight  to  the  garret.  Involuntarily  they  had 
paused  to  listen  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  but  it 
was  very  quiet,  not  a  sound  of  movement,  not  so 
much  as  the  sigh  of  a  man  breathing.  The  wife- 
turned  pale  and  put  both  her  shaking  hands  on 
her  heart. 

"  Guess  he's  trying  to  scare  us  by  keeping 
quiet  !  "  said  Olsen,  cheerfully,  and  he  stumbled 
up  the  stairs,  in  advance.  "Thunder!"  he  ex- 
claimed, on  the  last  stair,  "  well,  we  aint  any  too 
quick." 


THE  BESETMENT   OF  KURT  LIEDERS        II 

In  fact  Carl  had  nearly  fallen  over  the  master 
of  the  house,  that  enterprising  self-destroyer  hav- 
ing contrived,  pinioned  as  he  was,  to  roll  over  to 
the  very  brink  of  the  stair  well,  with  the  plain 
intent  to  break  his  neck  by  plunging  headlong. 

In  the  dim  light  all  that  they  could  see  was 
a  small,  old  man  whose  white  hair  was  strung 
in  wisps  over  his  purple  face,  whose  deep  set 
eyes  glared  like  the  eyes  of  a  rat  in  a  trap, 
and  whose  very  elbows  and  knees  expressed  in 
their  cramps  the  fury  of  an  outraged  soul. 
When  he  saw  the  new-comers  he  shut  his  eyes 
and  his  jaws. 

"Well,  Mr.  Lieders,"  said  Olsen,  mildly,  "I 
guess  you  better  git  down-stairs.  Kin  I  help 
you   up?" 

"  No,"  said  Lieders. 

"Will   I   give  you   an  arm   to  lean  on?" 

"  No." 

"Won't  you   go  at  all,   Mr.   Lieders?" 

"  No." 

Olsen  shook  his  head.  "  I  hate  to  trouble 
you,  Mr.  Lieders,"  said  he  in  his  slow,  undecided 
tones,  "  please  excuse  me,"  with  which  he 
gathered  up  the  little  man  into  his  strong  arms 
and   slung   him    over   his    shoulders,    as   easily  as 


12 


STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


he  would  sling  a  sack  of  meal.  It  was  a  vent 
for  Mrs.  Olsen's  bubbling  indignation  to  make 
a  dive  for  Lieders's  heels  and  hold  them,  while 
Carl    backed   down-stairs.      But   Lieders    did    not 

make  the  least  resistance.  lie  allowed  them  to 
carry  him  into  the  room  indicated  by  his  wife, 
and  to  lay  him  bound  on  the  plump  feather 
bed.  It  was  not  his  bedroom  but  the  sacred 
"  spare  room,"  and  the  bed  was  part  of  its 
luxury.  Thekla  ran  in,  first,  to  remove  the 
embroidered  pillow  shams  and  the  dazzling, 
silken  "  crazy  quilt  "  that  was  her  choicest  pos- 
session. 

Safely  in  the  bed,  Lieders  opened  his  eyes 
and  looked  from  one  face  to  the  other,  his  lip 
curling.  "  You  can't  keep  me  this  way  all  the 
time.     I  can  do  it  in  spite  of  you,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  I  think  you  had  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself,  Mr.  Lieders!"  Mrs.  Olsen  burst  out, 
in  a  tremble  between  wrath  and  exertion,  shaking 
her  little,  plump   fist   at   him. 

But  the  placid  Carl  only  nodded,  as  in  sympa- 
thy, saying,  "  Well,  I  am  sorry  you  feel  so  bad, 
Mr.    Lieders.     I  guess  we  got  to  go  now." 

Mrs.  Olsen  looked  as  if  she  would  have  liked 
to    exhort     Lieders    further  ;    but     she    shrugged 


THE  BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS        1 3 

her  shoulders  and  followed  her  husband  in  si- 
lence. 

"  I  wished  you'd  stay  to  breakfast,  now  you're 
here,"  Thekla  urged  out  of  her  imperious  hospi- 
tality ;  had  Kurt  been  lying  there  dead,  the  next 
meal  must  have  been  offered,  just  the  same.  "  I 
know,  you  aint  got  time  to  git  Mr.  Olsen  his 
breakfast,  Freda,  before  he  has  got  to  go  to  the 
shops,  and  my  tea-kettle  is  boiling  now,  and  the 
coffee'll  be  ready — I  guess  you  had  better  stay." 

But  Mrs.  Olsen  seconded  her  husband's  denial, 
and  there  was  nothing  left  Thekla  but  to  see 
them  to  the  door.  No  sooner  did  she  return 
than  Lieders  spoke.  "Aint  you  going  to  take  off 
them  ropes  ? "  said  he. 

"  Not  till  you  promise  you  won't  do  it." 

Silence.  Thekla,  brushing  a  few  tears  from 
her  eyes,  scrutinized  the  ropes  again,  before  she 
walked  heavily  out  of  the  room.  She  turned  the 
key  in  the  door. 

Directly  a  savory  steam  floated  through  the 
hall  and  pierced  the  cracks  about  the  door ;  then 
Thekla's  footsteps  returned  ;  they  echoed  over 
the  uncarpeted  boards. 

She  had  brought  his  breakfast,  cooked  with  the 
best  of  her  homely  skill.     The  pork  chops  that  he 


M 


STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


liked  had  been  fried,  there  was  a  napkin  on  the 
tray,  and  the  coffee  was  in  the  best  gilt  cup  and 
saucer. 

"  Here's  your  breakfast,  papa,"  said  she,  trying 
to   smile. 

"I   don't   want   no  breakfast,"   said   he. 

She  waited,  holding  the  tray,  and  wistfully  ey- 
ing him. 

'•  Take  it  'way,*'  said  he,  "  1  won't  touch  it  if 
you  stand  till   doomsday,  lessen  you   untie  me!" 

"I'll  untie  your  arm,  papa,  one  arm;  you 
kin   eat   that   way." 

"  Not  lessen  you  untie  all  of  me,  I  won't 
touch   a   bite." 

"  You    know    win-    I    won't    untie  you,    papa." 

"  Starving  will  kill  as  dead  as  hanging,"  was 
Lieders's  orphic  response  to  this. 

Thekla  sighed  and  went  away,  leaving  the 
tray  on  the  table.  It  may  be  that  she  hoped 
the  sight  of  food  might  stir  his  stomach  to 
rebel  against  his  dogged  will  ;  if  so  she  was 
disappointed;  half  an  hour  went  by  during 
which  the  statue  under  the  bedclothes  remained 
without  so   much  as  a  quiver. 

Then  the  old  woman  returned.  "  Aint  you 
awful   cramped   and   stiff,   papa?" 


THE  BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS        I  5 

"  Yes,"  said  the  statue. 

"  Will  you  promise  not  to  do  yourself  a  mis- 
chief, if  I   untie  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

Thekla  groaned,  while  the  tears  started  to 
her  red  eyelids.  "  But  you'll  git  awful  tired 
and  it  will  hurt  you  if  you  don't  get  the  ropes 
off,  soon,  papa  !  " 

"  I  know  that!" 

He  closed  his  eyes  again,  to  be  the  less  hin- 
dered from  dropping  back  into  his  distempered 
musings.  Thekla  took  a  scat  by  his  side  and  sat 
silent  as  he.  Slowly  the  natural  pallor  returned 
to  the  high  forehead  and  sharp  features.  They 
were  delicate  features  and  there  was  an  air  of 
refinement,  of  thought,  about  Lieders's  whole 
person,  as  different  as  possible  from  the  robust 
comeliness  of  his  wife.  With  its  keen  sensitive- 
ness and  its  undefined  melancholy  it  was  a 
dreamer's  face.  One  meets  such  faces,  some- 
times, in  incongruous  places  and  wonders  what 
they  mean.  In  fact,  Kurt  Lieders,  head  cabinet 
maker  in  the  furniture  factor)'  of  Lossing  &  Co., 
was  an  artist.  He  was,  also,  an  incomparable 
artisan  and  the  most  exacting  foreman  in  the 
shops.     Thirty  years  ago  he  had  first  taken  wages 


1 6 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


from  the  senior  Lossing.  He  had  watched  a 
modest  industry  climb  up  to  a  great  business,  nor 
was  he  all  at  sea  in  his  own  estimate  of  his  share- 
in  the  firm's  success.  Lieders's  workmanship  had 
an  honest}',  an  infinite  patience  of  detail,  a  daring 
skill  of  design  that  came  to  be  sought  and  com- 
manded its  own  price.  The  Lossing  "  art  furni- 
ture "  did  not  slander  the  name.  No  sculptor 
ever  wrought  his  soul  into  marble  with  a  more 
unflinching  conscience  or  a  purer  joy  in  his 
work  than  this  wood-carver  dreaming  over  side- 
boards and  bedsteads.  Unluckily,  Lieders  had 
the  wrong  side  of  the  gift  as  well  as  the  right  ; 
was  full  of  whims  and  crotchets,  and  as  unpracti- 
cal as  the  Christian  martyrs.  He  openly  defied 
expense,  and  he  would  have  no  trifling  with 
the  laws  of  art.  To  make  after  orders  was  an 
insult  to  Kurt.  He  made  what  was  best  for 
the  customer  ;  if  the  latter  had  not  the  sense 
to  see  it  he  was  a  fool  and  a  pig,  and  some  one 
else  should  work  for  him,  not  Kurt  Lieders, 
begehr  ! 

Young  Lossing  had  learned  the  business  practi- 
cally. He  was  taught  the  details  by  his  father's 
best  workman  ;  and  a  might}'  hard  and  strict 
master  the  best   workman   proved  !      Lossing  did 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS        17 

not  dream  that  the  crabbed  old  tyrant  who  rarely 
praised  him,  who  made  him  go  over,  for  the 
twentieth  time,  any  imperfect  piece  of  work,  who 
exacted  all  the  artisan  virtues  to  the  last  inch, 
was  secretly  proud  of  him.  Yet,  in  fact,  the 
thread  of  romance  in  Lieders's  prosaic  life  was  his 
idolatry  of  the  Lossing  Manufacturing  Co.  It  is 
hard  to  tell  whether  it  was  the  Lossings  or  that 
intangible  quantity,  the  firm,  the  business,  that  he 
worshipped.  Worship  he  did,  however,  the  one 
or  the  other,  perhaps  the  both  of  them,  though  in 
the  peevish  and  erratic  manner  of  the  savage  who 
sometimes  grovels  to  his  idols  and  sometimes 
kicks  them. 

Nobody  guessed  what  a  blow  it  was  to  Kurt 
when,  a  year  ago,  the  elder  Lossing  had  died. 
Even  his  wife  did  not  connect  his  sullen  melan- 
choly and  his  gibes  at  the  younger  generation, 
with  the  crape  on  Harry  Lossing's  hat.  He 
would  not  go  to  the  funeral,  but  worked  savagely, 
all  alone  by  himself,  in  the  shop,  the  whole  after- 
noon— breaking  down  at  last  at  the  sight  of  a 
carved  panel  over  which  Lossing  and  he  had  once 
disputed.  The  desolate  loneliness  of  the  old 
came  to  him  when  his  old  master  was  gone.  He 
loved    the   young  man,  but  the  old  man  was    of 

3 


i8 


STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


his  own  generation  ;  he  had  "known  how  things 
ought  to  be  and  he  could  understand  without 
talking."  Lieders  began  to  be  on  the  lookout  for 
signs  of  waning  consideration,  to  watch  his  own 
eyes  and.  hands,  drearily  wondering  when  they 
would  begin  to  play  him  false  ;  at  the  same  time 
because  he  was  unhappy  he  was  ten  times  as 
exacting  and  peremptory  and  critical  with  the 
younger  workmen,  and  ten  times  as  insolently 
independent  with  the  young  master.  Often 
enough,  Lossing  was  exasperated  to  the  point  of 
taking  the  old  man  at  his  word  and  telling  him  to 
go  if  he  would,  but  every  time  the  chain  of  long 
habit,  a  real  respect  for  such  faithful  service,  and 
a  keen  admiration  for  Kurt's  matchless  skill  in  his 
craft,  had  held  him  back.  Me  prided  himself  on 
keeping  his  word  ;  for  th.it  reason  he  was  warier 
of  using  it.  So  he  would  compromise  by  giving 
the  domineering  old  fellow  a  "good,  stiff  rowing." 
Once,  he  coupled  this  with  a  threat,  if  the}'  could 
not  get  along  decently  they  would  better  part! 
Lieders  had  answered  not  a  word  ;  he  had  given 
Lossing  a  queer  glance  and  turned  on  his  heel. 
He  -went  home  and  bought  some  poison  on  the 
way.  "  The  old  man  is  gone  and  the  young  feller 
don't   want    the   old   crank   round,    no   more,"   he 


20 


STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


said  to  himself.  "  Thekla,  I  guess  I  make  her 
troubles,  too  ;   I'll  git  out  !" 

That  was  the  beginning  of  his  tampering  with 
suicide.  Thekla,  who  did  not  have  the  same 
opinion  of  the  "trouble,"  had  interfered.  He- 
had  married  Thekla  to  have  someone  to  keep  a 
warm  fireside  for  him,  but  she  was  an  ignorant 
creature  who  never  could  be  made  to  understand 
about  carving.  lie  felt  sorry  for  her  when  the 
baby  died,  the  only  child  the}'  ever  had  ;  he  was 
sorrier  than  he  expected  to  be  on  his  own  ac- 
count, too,  for  it  was  an  ugly  little  creature,  only 
four  days  old,  and  very  red  and  wrinkled  ;  lint  he 
never  thought  of  confiding  his  own  griefs  or  trials 
to  her.  Now,  it  made  him  angry  to  have  that 
stupid  Thekla  keep  him  in  a  world  where  he  did 
not  wish  to  stay.  If  the  next  day  Lossing  had 
not  remembered  how  his  father  valued  Lieders, 
and  made  an  excuse  to  half  apologize  to  him,  I 
fear  Thekla's  stratagems  would  have  done  little 
good. 

The  next  experience  was  cut  out  of  the  same 
piece  of  cloth.  lie  had  relented,  he  had  allowed 
his  wife  to  save  him  ;  but  he  was  angry  in  secret. 
Then  came  the  day  when  open  disobedience  to 
Lossing's  orders  had   snapped  the   last  thread   of 


THE  BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS       2\ 

Harry's  patience.  To  Lieders's  aggrieved  "  If 
you  ain't  satisfied  with  my  work,  Mr.  Lossing,  I 
kin  quit,"  the  answer  had  come  instantly,  "  Very 
well,  Lieders,  I'm  sorry  to  lose  you,  but  we  can't 
have  two  bosses  here  :  you  can  go  to  the  desk." 
And  when  Lieders  in  a  blind  stab  of  temper  had 
growled  a  prophecy  that  Lossing  would  regret  it, 
Lossing  had  stabbed  in  turn  :  "  Maybe,  but  it 
will  be  a  cold  day  when  I  ask  you  to  come  back." 
And  he  had  gone  off  without  so  much  as  a  word 
of  regret.  The  old  workman  had  packed  up  his 
tools,  the  pet  tools  that  no  one  was  ever  per- 
mitted to  touch,  and  crammed  his  arms  into  his 
coat  and  walked  out  of  the  place  where  he  had 
worked  so  long,  not  a  man  saying  a  word.  Lie- 
ders didn't  reflect  that  they  knew  nothing  of  the 
quarrel.  He  glowered  at  them  and  went  away 
sore  at  heart.  We  make  a  great  mistake  when 
we  suppose  that  it  is  only  the  affectionate  that 
desire  affection;  sulky  and  ill-conditioned  souls 
often  have  a  passionate  longing  for  the  very  feel- 
ings that  they  repel.  Lieders  was  a  womanish, 
sensitive  creature  under  the  surly  mask,  and  he 
was  cut  to  the  quick  by  his  comrades'  apathy. 
"There  ain't  no  place  for  old  men  in  this  world," 
he  thought,  "  there's   them    boys  I    done  my  best 


22  STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

to  make  do  a  good  job,  and  some  of  'em  I've 
worked  overtime  to  help  ;  and  not  one  of  'em  has 
got  as  much  as  a  good-by  in  him  for  me!  " 

But  he  did  not  think  of  going  t<>  poor  Thekla 
for  comfort,  he  went  to  his  grim  dreams.  "  I  git 
my  property  all  straight  for  Thekla,  and  then 
I  quit,"  said  he.  Perhaps  he  gave  himself  a 
reprieve  unconsciously,  thinking  that  something 
might  happen  to  save  him  from  himself.  Nothing 
happened.  None  of  the  "boys  "'  came  to  see  him, 
except  Carl  (  Msen.  the  very  stupidest  man  in  the 
shop,  who  put  Lieders  beside  himself  fifty  times 
a  da\'.  The  other  men  were  sorry  that  Lieders 
had  gone,  having  a  genuine  workman's  admiration 
for  his  skill,  and  a  sort  of  underground  liking  for 
the  unreasonable  old  man  because  he  was  so  abso- 
lutely honest  and  "  a  fellow  could  always  tell 
where  to  find  him."  But  they  were  shy,  they 
were  afraid  he  would  take  their  pity  in  bad  part, 
the\'  "  waited   a   while." 

Carl,  honest  soul,  stood  about  in  Lieders's 
workshop,  kicking  the  shavings  with  his  heels 
for  half  an  hour,  and  grinned  sheepishly,  and  was 
told  what  a  worthless,  scamping,  bragging  lot  the 
"boys"  at  Lossing's  were,  and  said  he  guessed  he 
had   got   to  go  home    now  ;  and  so  departed,   un- 


THE    BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS       23 


witting    that    his    presence   had    been    a    consola- 
tion.    Mrs.  Olsen  asked  Carl  what   Lieders  said  ; 


None  of  the   "  boys  "   came  to  see  him,   except  Carl   Olsen. 

Carl    answered    simply,    "  Say,    Freda,    that    man 
feels  terrible  bad." 

Meanwhile  Thekla  seemed  easily  satisfied.     She 


24  STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

made  no  outcry  as  Licders  had  dreaded,  over  his 
leaving  the  shop. 

"Well,  then,  papa,  you  don't  need  git  up  so 
earl\T  in  the  morning  no  more,  if  you  aint  go- 
ing to  the  shop,"  was  her  only  comment;  and 
Lieders  despised  the  mind  of  woman  more  than 
ever. 

But  that  evening,  while  Lieders  was  down  town 
(occupied,  had  she  known  it,  with  a  codicil  to  his 
will),  she  went  over  to  the  Olsens  and  found  out 
all  Carl  could  tell  her  about  the  trouble  in  the 
shop.  And  it  was  she  that  made  the  excuse  of 
marketing  to  go  out  the  next  day,  that  she  might 
see  the  rich  widow  on  the  hill  who  was  talking 
about  a  china  closet,  and  Judge  Trevor,  who  had 
asked  the  price  of  a  mantel,  and  Mr.  Martin,  who 
had  looked  at  sideboards  (all  this  information 
came  from  honest  Carl);  and  who  proposed  to 
them  that  they  order  such  furniture  of  the  best 
cabinet-maker  in  the  country,  now  setting  up  on 
his  own  account.  He,  simple  as  a  baby  for  all  his 
doggedness,  thought  that  they  came  because  of 
his  fame  as  a  workman,  and  felt  a  glow  of  pride, 
particularly  as  (having  been  prepared  by  the  wife, 
who  said,  "  You  see  it  don't  make  so  much  differ- 
ence with   my   Kurt   "bout   de  prize,  if  so    he   can 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS       25 

get  the  furniture  like  he  wants  it,  and  he  always 
know  of  the  best  in  the  old  country")  they  all 
were  duly  humble.  He  accepted  a  few  orders 
and  went  to  work  with  a  will  ;  he  would  show 
them  what  the  old  man  could  do.  But  it  was 
only  a  temporary  gleam  ;  in  a  little  while  he  grew 
homesick  for  the  shop,  for  the  sawdust  floor  and 
the  familiar  smell  of  oil,  and  the  picture  of  Loss- 
ing  flitting  in  and  out.  He  missed  the  careless 
young  workmen  at  whom  he  had  grumbled,  he 
missed  the  whir  of  machinery,  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  rush  and  hurry  accented  by  the  cars  on 
the  track  outside.  In  short,  he  missed  the  feel- 
ing of  being  part  of  a  great  whole.  At  home,  in 
his  cosey  little  improvised  shop,  there  was  none 
to  dispute  him,  but  there  was  none  to  obey  him 
either.  He  grew  deathly  tired  of  it  all.  He  got 
into  the  habit  of  walking  around  the  shops  at 
night,  prowling  about  his  old  haunts  like  a  cat. 
Once  the  night  watchman  saw  him.  The  next 
day  there  was  a  second  watchman  engaged.  And 
Olsen  told  him  very  kindly,  meaning  only  to  warn 
him,  that  he  was  suspected  to  be  there  for  no 
good  purpose.  Lieders  confirmed  a  lurking  sus- 
picion of  the  good  Carl's  own,  by  the  clouding 
of    his    face.     Yet    he    would    have    chopped    his 


26  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

hand  off  rather  than  have  lifted  it  against  the 
shop. 

That  was  Tuesday  night,  this  was  Wednes- 
day morning. 

The  memory  of  it  all,  the  cruel  sense  of 
injustice,  returned  with  such  poignant  force 
that   Lieders  groaned   aloud. 

Instantly,  Thekla  was  bending  over  him.  lie 
did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  at  her  or  to 
swear,  for  she  began  fumbling  at  the  ropes, 
half  sobbing.  "  Yes,  I  knowed  they  was  hurt- 
ing you,  papa;  I'm  going  to  loose  one  arm. 
Then  1  put  it  back  again  and  loose  the  other. 
Please   don't    be   bad  !  " 

lie  made  no  resistance  and  she  was  as  good 
as  her  word.  She  unbound  and  bound  him 
in  sections,  as  it  were  ;  he  watching  her  with  a 
morose  smile. 

Then  she  left  the  room,  but  only  to  return 
with  some  hot  coffee.  Lieders  twisted  his 
head  away.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  cat  none 
of  that  breakfast,  not  if  you  make  fresh  coffee 
all  the  morning ;  I  feel  like  I  don't  eat  never 
no  more  on  earth." 

Thekla  knew  that  the  obstinate  nature  that 
she  tempted    was    proof    against    temptation  ;    if 


THE  BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS       2J 

Kurt  chose  to  starve,  starve  he  would  with 
food  at   his  elbow. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  she  cried,  helplessly,  "  what  is 
the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Just  dying  is  the  matter  with  me,  Thekla. 
If  I  can't  die  one  way  I  kin  another.  Now 
Thekla,  I  want  you  to  quit  crying  and  listen. 
After  I'm  gone  you  go  to  the  boss,  young 
Mr.  Lossing — but  I  always  called  him  Harry 
because  he  learned  his  trade  of  me,  Thekla, 
but  he  don't  think  of  that  now — and  you  tell 
him  old  Lieders  that  worked  for  him  thirty 
years  is  dead,  but  he  didn't  hold  no  hard  feel- 
ings, he  knowed  he  done  wrong  'bout  that 
mantel.      Mind  you   tell  him." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  Thekla,  which  was  a  sur- 
prise to  Kurt  ;  he  had  dreaded  a  weak  flood  of 
tears  and  protestations.  But  there  were  no 
tears,  no  protestations,  only  a  long  look  at  him 
and  a  contraction  of  the  eyebrows  as  if  Thekla 
were  trying  to  think  of  something  that  eluded 
her.  She  placed  the  coffee  on  the  tray  beside 
the  other  breakfast.  For  a  while  the  room 
was  very  still.  Lieders  could  not  see  the  look 
of  resolve  that  finally  smoothed  the  perplexed 
lines    out    of    his    wife's    kind,    simple   old    face. 


2.S 


STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


She  rose.  "  Kurt,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  guess 
you  remember  this  is  our  wedding-day  ;  it  was 
this  day,   eighteen   year  we  was  married." 

"S<>!  "said  Lieders,  "well,  I  was  a  bad  bar- 
gain to  you,  Thekla ;  after  you  nursed  your 
father  that  was  a  cripple  for  twenty  years,  I 
thought  it  would  be  easy  with  me;  but  I  was  a 
bad  bargain." 

"The  Lord  knows  best  about  that,"  said 
Thekla,  simply,  "be  it  how  it  be,  you  are  the 
onl)r  man  1  ever  had  or  will  have,  and  I  don't 
like  you  starve  yourself.  Papa,  say  you  don't 
kill  yourself,  to-day,  ami  dat  you  will  eat  your 
breakfast  !  " 

"  Yes,"  Lieders  repeated  in  German,  "  a  bad 
bargain  for  thee,  that  is  sure.  But  thou  hast 
been  a  good  bargain  for  me.  Here!  I  promise. 
Not   this  day.      Give  me  the  coffee." 

He  had  seasons,  all  the  morning,  of  wonder- 
ing over  his  meekness,  ami  his  agreement  to 
be  tied  up  again,  at  night.  But  still,  what  did 
a  day  matter?  a  man  humors  women's  notions; 
and  starving  was  so  tedious.  Between  whiles 
he  elaborated  a  scheme  to  attain  his  end.  How 
easy  to  outwit  the  silly  Thekla!  His  eyes  shone, 
as    he    hid    the    little,    sharp    knife     up     his     cuff. 


THE   BESETMENT   OE  KURT  LIEDERS 


29 


"  Let  her  tie  me  !  "  says  Lieders,  "  I  keep  my 
word.  To-morrow  I  be  out  of  this.  lie  won't 
git  a  man  like  me,  pretty  soon  !  " 

Thekla  went  about  her  daily  tasks,  with  her 
every-day  air;  but,  now  and  again,  that  same 
pucker  of  thought  returned  to  her  forehead ; 
and,  more  than  once,  Lieders  saw  her  stand 
over  some  dish,  poising  her  spoon  in  air,  too 
abstracted  to  notice  his  cynical   observation. 

The  dinner 
w  a  s  m  ore 
elaborate  than 
common,  and 
Thekla  had 
broached  a 
bottle  of  her 
currant  wine. 
She  gravely 
d  r  a  n  k  L  i  e  - 
ders's  health. 
"  And  many 
good  days, 
papa,"  she 
said. 

Lieders  felt 

"  He   wiped   dishes  as   he  did   everything,    neatly, 

a  queer  move-  siowiy." 


}0 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOU'X 


ment  of  pity.  After  the  table  was  cleared,  he 
helped  his  wife  to  wash  and  wipe  the  dishes  as 
his  custom  was  of  a  Sunday  or  holiday.  He 
wiped  dishes  as  he  did  everything,  neatly,  slowly, 
with  a  careful  deliberation.  Not  until  the  dishes 
were  put  away  and  the  couple  were  seated,  did 
Thekla  speak. 

"  Kurt,"'  she  said,  "  I  got  to  talk  to  you." 

An  inarticulate  groan  and  a  glance  at  the  door 
from  Lieders.  "I  just  got  to,  papa.  It  aint 
righd  for  you  to  do  the  way  you  been  doing  for 
so  long  time;  efery  little  whiles  you  try  to  kill 
yourself;  no,  papa,  that  aint  righd!" 

Kurt,  who  had  gotten  out  his  pencils  and  com- 
passes and  other  drawing  tools,  grunted  :  "  I  got 
to  look  at  my  work,  Thekla,  now-  ;  I  am  too  busy 
to   talk." 

"  No,  Kurt,  no,  papa" — the  hands  holding  the 
blue  apron  that  she  was  embroidering  with  white 
linen  began  to  tremble;  Lieders  had  not  the  least 
idea  what  a  strain  it  was  on  this  reticent,  slow  of 
speech  woman  who  had  stood  in  awe  of  him  for 
eighteen  years,  to  discuss  the  horror  of  her  life  ; 
but  lie  could  not  help  marking  her  agitation. 
She  went  on,  desperately:  "Yes,  papa,  I  got  to 
talk  it  oud  with   you.     You   had   ought   to  listen, 


THE   BESETMENT   OF  KURT  LIEDERS        31 

'cause  I  always  been  a  good  wife  to  you  and  nefer 
refused  you  notings.     No." 

"Well,  I  aint  saying  I  done  it  'cause  you  been 
bad  to  me  ;  everybody  knows  we  aint  had  no 
trouble." 

"  But  everybody  what  don't  know  us,  when 
they  read  how  you  tried  to  kill  yourself  in  the 
papers,  the}-  think  it  was  me.  That  always  is  so. 
And  now  I  never  can  any  more  sleep  nights,  for 
you  is  always  maybe  git  up  and  do  something  to 
yourself.  So  now,  I  got  to  talk  to  you,  papa. 
Papa,  how  could  you   done  so?" 

Lieders  twisted  his  feet  under  the  rungs  of  his 
chair;  he  opened  his  mouth,  but  only  to  shut  it 
again  with  a  click  of  his  teeth. 

"  I  got  my  mind  made  up,  papa.  I  tought 
and  I  tought.  I  know  why  you  done  it  ;  you 
clone  it  'cause  you  and  the  boss  was  mad  at  each 
other.  The  boss  hadn't  no  righd  to  let  you 
go " 

"  Yes,  he  had,  I  madded  him  first  ;  I  was  a 
fool.  Of  course  I  knowed  more  than  him  'bout 
the  work,  but  I  hadn't  no  right  to  go  against 
him.     The  boss  is  all  right." 

"  Yes,  papa,  I  got  my  mind  made  up  " — like 
most     sluggish     spirits    there    was    an     immense 


32 


STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


momentum    about    Thckla's    mind,    once    get    it 

fairly  started  it  was  not  to  be  diverted — "  you 
never  killed  yourself  before  you  used  to  git  mad 
at  the  boss.  You  was  afraid  he  would  send  you 
away  ;  and  now  you  have  sent  yourself  away  you 
don't  want  to  live,  'cause  you  do  not  know  how 
you  can  git  along  without  the  shop.  But  you 
want  to  get  back,  you  want  to  get  back  more  as 
you  want  to  kill  yourself.  Yes,  papa,  I  know,  I 
know  where  you  did  used  to  go,  nights.  Now" 
— she  changed  her  speech  unconsciously  to  the 
tongue  of  her  youth — "  it  is  not  fair,  it  is  not  fair 
to  me  that  thou  shouldst  treat  me  like  that,  thou 
dost  belong  to  me,  also;  so  I  say,  my  Kurt,  wilt 
thou  make  a  bargain  with  me  ?  If  I  shall  get 
thee  back  thy  place  wilt  thou  promise  me  never 
to  kill  thyself  any  more?" 

Lieders  had  not  once  looked  up  at  her  during 
the  slow,  difficult  sentences  with  their  half 
choked  articulation  ;  but  he  was  experiencing 
some  strange  emotions,  and  one  of  them  was  a 
novel  respect  for  his  wife.  All  he  said  was  : 
"  'Taint  no  use  talking.  I  won't  never  ask  him 
to  take  me  back,   once." 

"  Well,  you  aint  asking  of  him.  /  ask  him.  I 
trv  to  efit   you   back,   once!" 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS        33 

"  I  tell  you,  it  aint  no  use;  I  know  the  boss,  he 
aint  going  to  be  letting  womans  talk  him  over; 
no,  he's  a  good  man,  he  knows  how  to  work  his 
business  himself !  " 

"  Rut  would  you   promise  me,   Kurt  ?  " 

Lieders's  eyes  blurred  with  a  mild  and  dreamy 
mist  ;  he  sighed  softly.  "  Thckla,  you  can't  see 
how  it  is.  It  is  like  you  are  tied  up,  if  I  don't 
can  do  that ;  if  I  can  then  it  is  always  that  I  am 
free,  free  to  go,  free  to  stay.  And  for  you, 
Thekla,   it   is  the  same." 

Thekla's  mild  eyes  flashed.  "  I  don't  believe 
you  would  like  it  so  you  wake  up  in  the  morning 
and  find  me  hanging  up  in  the  kitchen  by  the 
clothes-line  !  " 

Lieders  had  the  air  of  one  considering  deeply. 
Then  he  gave  Thekla  one  of  the  surprises  of  her 
life  ;  he  rose  from  his  chair,  he  walked  in  his  shuf- 
fling, unheeled  slippers  across  the  room  to  where 
the  old  woman  sat ;  he  put  one  arm  on  the  back 
of  the  chair  and  stiffly  bent  over  her  and  kissed 
her. 

"  Lieber  Herr  Je!"  gasped  Thekla. 

"Then  I  shall  go,  too,  pretty  quick,  that  is  all, 
mamma,"  said  he. 

Thekla  wiped  her  eyes.  A  little  pause  fell 
3 


34 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


between  them,  and  in  it  the}-  may  have  both 
remembered  vanished,  half-forgotten  days  when 
life  had  looked  differently  to  them,  when  they 
had  never  thought  to  sit  by  their  own  fireside 
and  discuss  suicide.  The  husband  spoke  first  ; 
with  a  reluctant,  half-shamed  smile,  " Thekla,  I 
tell  you  what.  I  make  the  bargain  with  you  ; 
you  git  me  back  that  place,  I  don't  do  it  again, 
'less  you  let  me;  you  don't  git  me  back  that 
place  you   don't   say  notings  to  me." 

The  apron  dropped  from  the  withered,  brown 
hands  to  the  floor.  Again  there  was  silence;  but 
not  for  long;  ghastly  as  was  the  alternative,  the 
proposal  offered  a  chance  to  escape  from  the 
terror  that  was  sapping  her  heart. 

''How  long  will    you  give  me,  papa?"  said  she. 

"  I  give  you  a  week,"  said  he. 

Thekla  rose  and  went  to  the  door  ;  as  she 
opened  it  a  fierce  gust  of  wind  slashed  her  like 
a  knife,  and  Lieders  exclaimed,  fretfully,  "  what 
you  opening  that  door  for,  Thekla,  letting  in  the 
wind?  I'm  so  cold,  now,  right  by  the  fire,  I 
most  can't  draw.  We  got  to  keep  a  fire  in  the 
base-burner  good,  all  night,  or  the  plants  will 
freeze." 

Thekla  said  confusedly  that  something  sounded 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS       35 

like  a  cat  crying.  "  And  you  talking  like  that  it 
frightened  me  ;  maybe  I  was  wrong  to  make  such 
bargains " 

"  Then  don't  make  it,"  said  Lieders,  curtly,  "  I 
aint  asking  you." 

But  Thekla  drew  a  long  breath  and  straight- 
ened herself,  saying,  "  Yes,  I  make  it,  papa,  I 
make  it." 

"  Well,  put  another  stick  of  wood  in  the  stove, 
will  you,  now  you  are  up?"  said  Lieders,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  "or  I'll  freeze  in  spite  of  you  ! 
It  seems  to  me  it  grows  colder  every  minute." 

But  all  that  day  he  was  unusually  gentle  with 
Thekla.  He  talked  of  his  youth  and  the  strug- 
gles of  the  early  days  of  the  firm  ;  he  related  a 
dozen  tales  of  young  Lossing,  all  illustrating  some 
admirable  trait  that  he  certainly  had  not  praised 
at  the  time.  Never  had  he  so  opened  his  heart 
in  regard  to  his  own  ideals  of  art,  his  own  ambi- 
tions. And  Thekla  listened,  not  always  compre- 
hending but  always  sympathizing  ;  she  was  al- 
most like  a  comrade,  Kurt  thought  afterward. 

The  next  morning,  he  was  surprised  to  have  her 
appear  equipped  for  the  street,  although  it  was 
bitterly  cold.  She  wore  her  garb  of  ceremony,  a 
black  alpaca  gown,  with  a  white  crocheted  collar 


\6 


S7VRJES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


neatly    turned   over    the    long    black,    broadcloth 

cloak  in  which  she  had  taken  pride  for  the  last 
five  years  ;  and  her  quilted  black  silk  bonnet  was 
on  her  gray  head.  When  she  put  up  her  foot  to 
don  her  warm  overshoes  Kurt  saw  that  the  .stout 
ankles  were  encased  in  white  stockings.  This 
was  the  last  touch.  "Gracious,  Thekla,"  cried 
Kurt,  "are  you  going  to  market  this  day?  It  is 
the  coldest   day  this  winter! 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  replied  Thekla,  nervously. 
Then  she  had  wrapped  a  scarf  about  her  and 
gone  out  while  he  was  getting  into  his  own  coat, 
and  conning  a  proffer  to  go  in  her  stead. 

"  <  )h,  well,  Thekla  she  aint  such  a  fool  like  she 
looks  !  "  he  observed  to  the  cat,  "say,  pussy,  was 
it   you   out  yestiddy  ?  " 

The  cat  only  blinked  her  yellow  eyes  and 
purred.  She  knew  that  she  had  not  been  out, 
last  night.  Not  any  better  than  her  mistress, 
however,  who  at  this  moment  was  hailing  a 
street-car. 

The  street-car  did  not  land  her  anywhere  near 
a  market  ;  it  whirled  her  past  the  lines  of  low 
wooden  houses  into  the  big  brick  shops  with 
their  arched  windows  and  terra-cotta  ornaments 
that     showed     the     ambitious     architecture    of     a 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS        37 

growing  Western  town,  past  these  into  mills  and 
factories  and  smoke-stained  chimneys.  Here,  she 
stopped.  An  acquaintance  would  hardly  have 
recognized  her,  her  ruddy  cheeks  had  grown  so 
pale.  But  she  trotted  on  to  the  great  building 
on  the  corner  from  whence  came  a  low,  incessant 
buzz.  She  went  into  the  first  door  and  ran 
against  Carl  Olsen.  "  Carl,  I  got  to  see  Mr. 
Lossing,"  said   she  breathlessly. 

"  There  ain't  noding " 

"  No,  Gott  sei  dank',  but  I  got  to  sec  him." 

It  was  not  Carl's  way  to  ask  questions ;  he 
promptly  showed  her  the  office  and  she  entered. 
She  had  not  seen  young  Harry  Lossing  half  a 
dozen  times ;  and,  now,  her  anxious  eyes  wan- 
dered from  one  dapper  figure  at  the  high  desks, 
to  another,  until  Lossing  advanced  to  her. 

He  was  a  handsome  young  man,  she  thought, 
and  he  had  kind  eyes,  but  they  hardened  at  her 
first  timid  sentence:  "  I  am  Mrs.  Lieders,  I  come 
about  my  man " 

"  Will  you  walk  in  here,  Mrs.  Lieders  ?  "  said 
Lossing.  His  voice  was  like  the  ice  on  the  win- 
dow-panes. 

She  followed  him  into  a  little  room.  He  shut 
the  door. 


38  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

Declining  the  chair  that  he  pushed  toward  her 
she  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  looking  at 
him  with   the  pleading  eyes  of  a  child. 

"  Mr.  Lossing,  will  you  please  save  my  Kurt 
from   killing  himself  ?  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Lossing's  voice  had 
not  thawed. 

"  It  is  for  you  that  he  will  kill  himself,  Mr. 
Lossing.  This  is  the  dird  time  he  has  done  it. 
It  is  because  he  is  so  lonesome  now,  your  father 
is  died  and  he  thinks  that  you  forget,  and  he  has 
worked  so  hard  for  you,  but  he  thinks  that  you 
forget.  He  was  never  tell  me  till  yesterday  ;  and 
then  —  it  was — it  was  because  I  would  not  let  him 
hang  himself— 

"Hang  himself?"  stammered  Lossing,  "you 
don't   mean— 

"  Yes,  he  was  hang  himself,  but  I  cut  him,  no  I 
broke  him  down,"  said  Thekla,  accurate  in  all  the 
disorder  of  her  spirits  ;  and  forthwith,  with  many 
tremors,  but  clearly,  she  told  the  story  of  Kurt's 
despair.  She  told,  as  Lieders  never  would  have 
known  how  to  tell,  even  had  his  pride  let  him,  all 
the  man's  devotion  for  the  business,  all  his  per- 
sonal attachment  to  the  firm  ;  she  told  of  his 
gloom   after   the  elder  Lossing  died,  "  for  he  was 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS 


39 


think  there  was  no  one  in  this  town  such  good 
man  and  so  smart  like  your  fader,  Mr.  Lossing, 
no,   and   he   would    set   all    the   evening  and   try 


"Hang  himself?"   stammered   Lossing. 

to  draw  and  make  the  lines  all  wrong,  and,  then, 
he  would  drow  the  papers  in  the  fire  and  go 
and  walk  outside  and  he  say,  '  I  can't  do  nothing 
righd  no  more  now  the  old  man's  died  ;  they  don't 
have  no  use  for  me  at  the  shop,  pretty  quick!'  and 


40 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


that  make  him  feel  awful  bad  !  "  She  told  of  his 
homesick  wanderings  about  the  shops  by  night  ; 
"  but  lie  was  better  as  a  watchman,  he  wouldn't 
hurt  it  for  the  world!  lie  telled  me  how  you 
was  hide  his  dinner-pail  onct  for  a  joke,  and  put 
in  a  piece  of  your  pie,  and  how  you  climbed  on 
the  roof  with  the  hose  when  it  was  afire.  And 
he  telled  me  if  he  shall  die  I  shall  tell  you  that 
he  ain't  got  no  hard  feelings,  hut  you  didn't  know 
how  that  mantel  had  ought  to  be  so  he  done'  it 
righd  the  other  way,  but  he  hadn't  no  righd  to 
talk'  to  you  like  he  done,  nohow,  and  you  was  all 
righd  to  send  him  away,  but  you  might  a  shaked 
hands,  and  none  of  the  boys  never  said  nothing 
nor  none  of  them  never  come  to  see  him,  'cept 
Carl  Olsen,  and  that  make  him  feel  awful  bad, 
too  !  And  when  he  feels  so  bad  he  don't  no  more 
want  to  live,  so  I  make  him  promise  if  I  git  him 
back  he  newer  try  to  kill  himself  again.  Oh,  Air. 
Lossing,   please  don't   let   my   man   die!" 

Bewildered  and  more  touched  than  he  cared  to 
feel,  himself,  Lossing  still  made  a  feeble  stand  for 
discipline.  "  I  don't  see  how  Lieders  can  expect 
me  to  take  him  back  again,"  he  began. 

"  He  aint  expecting  you,  Mr.  Lossing,  it's 
me  f  " 


THE   BESETMENT  OF  KURT  LIEDERS       41 

"  But  didn't  Lieders  tell  you  I  told  him  I 
would  never  take  him   back?" 

"  No,  sir,  no,  Mr.  Lossing,  it  was  not  that,  it 
was  you  said  it  would  be  a  cold  da)-  that  you 
would  take  him  back  ;  and  it  was  git  so  cold  yes- 
terday, so  I  think,  '  Now  it  would  be  a  cold  day 
to-morrow  and  Mr.  Lossing  he  can  take  Kurt 
back.'  And  it  is  the  most  coldest  day  this 
year! " 

Lossing  burst  into  a  laugh,  perhaps  he  was  glad 
to  have  the  Western  sense  of  humor  come  to  the 
rescue  of  his  compassion.  "  Well,  it  was  a  cold 
day  for  you  to  come  all  this  way  for  nothing," 
said  he.  "  You  go  home  and  tell  Lieders  to 
report  to-morrow." 

Kurt's  manner  of  receiving  the  news  was  char- 
acteristic. He  snorted  in  disgust :  "  Well,  I  did 
think  he  had  more  sand  than  to  give  in  to  a 
woman!"  But  after  he  heard  the  whole  story  he 
chuckled  :  "  Yes,  it  was  that  way  he  said,  and  he 
must  do  like  he  said  ;  but  that  was  a  funny  way 
you  done,  Thekla.  Say,  mamma,  yesterday,  was 
you  look  out  for  the  cat  or  to  find  how  cold  it 
been  ?  " 

"  Never  you  mind,  papa,"  said  Thekla,  "  you  re- 
member what  you  promised  if  I  git  you  back?" 


k- 


STOEIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


Lieders's  eyes  grew  dull  ;  he  Hung  his  arms  out, 
with  a  long  sigh.  "No,  I  don't  forget,  I  will  keep 
my  promise,  but — it  is  like  the  handcuffs,  Thekla, 
it  is  like  the  handcuffs !  "  In  a  second,  however, 
he  added,  in  a  changed  tone,  "  But  thou  art  a 
kind  jailer,  mamma,  more  like  a  comrade.  .And 
no,  it  was  not  fair  to  thee — I  know  that  now, 
Thekla." 


THE    FACE    OF    FAILURE 

AFTER  the  week's  shower  the  low  Iowa  hills 
looked  vividly  green.  At  the  base  of  the 
first  range  of  hills  the  Blackhawk  road  winds  from 
the  city  to  the  prairie.  From  its  starting-point, 
just  outside  the  city  limits,  the  wayfarer  may 
catch  bird's-eye  glimpses  of  the  city,  the  vast 
river  that  the  Iowans  love,  and  the  three  bridges 
tying  three  towns  to  the  island  arsenal.  But  at 
one's  elbow  spreads  Cavendish's  melon  farm. 
Cavendish's  melon  farm  it  still  is,  in  current 
phrase,  although  Cavendish,  whose  memory  is 
honored  by  lovers  of  the  cantaloupe  melon,  long 
ago  departed  to  raise  melons  for  larger  markets; 
and  still  a  weather-beaten  sign  creaks  from  a  post 
announcing  to  the  world  that  "  the  celebrated 
Cavendish  Melons  are  for  Sale  here!"  To-day 
the  melon-vines  were  softly  shaded  by  rain-drops. 
A  pleasant  sight  they  made,  spreading  for  acres 
in  front  of  the  green-houses  where  mushrooms 
and  early  vegetables  strove  to  outwit  the  seasons, 
and  before  the  brown  cottage  in  which  Cavendish 


44 


STORIES   OF  .1     WESTERN    TOWN 


had  begun  a  successful  career.  The  black  roof- 
tree  of  the  cottage  sagged  in  the  middle,  and  the 
weather-boarding  was  dingy  with  the  streaky  din- 
giness  of  old  paint  that  lias  never  had  enough 
oil.  The  fences,  too,  were  unpainted  and  rudely 
patched.  Nevertheless  a  second  glance  told  one 
that  there  were  no  gaps  in  them,  that  the  farm 
machines  kept  their  bright  colors  well  under 
cover,  and  that  the  garden  rows  were  beautifully 
straight  and  clean.  An  old  white  horse  switched 
its  sleek  sides  with  its  long  tail  and  drooped  its 
untrammelled  neck  in  front  of  the  gate.  The' 
wagon  to  which  it  was  harnessed  was  new  and 
had  just  been  washed.  Near  the  gate  stood  a  girl 
and  boy  who  seemed  to  be  mutually  studying 
each  other's  person.  Decidedly  the  girl's  slim, 
light  figure  in  its  dainty  frock  repaid  one's  eyes 
for  their  trouble;  and  her  face,  with  its  brilliant 
violet  eyes,  its  fall,  soft  chin,  its  curling  auburn 
hair  and  delicate  tints,  was  charming ;  but  her 
brother's  look  was  anything  but  approving,  llis 
lip  curled  and  his  small  gray  eyes  grew  smaller 
under  his  scowling  brows. 

"  Is  that  your   best    suit.-'"  said   the  girl. 

"Yes,  it  is;  and  it's  going  to  be  for  one  while," 
said  the  b<  >y. 


that  your   be^t  suit?  " 


THE    FACE    OF  FAILURE  4/ 

It  was  a  suit  of  the  cotton  mixture  that  looks 
like  wool  when  it  is  new,  and  cuts  a  figure  on 
the  counters  of  every  dealer  in  cheap  ready-made 
clothing.  It  had  been  Tim  Powell's  best  attire 
for  a  year;  perhaps  he  had  not  been  careful 
enough  of  it,  and  that  was  why  it  no  longer  cared 
even  to  imitate  wool  ;  it  was  faded  to  the  hue  of  a 
clay  bank,  it  was  threadbare,  the  trousers  bagged 
at  the  knees,  the  jacket  bagged  at  the  elbows,  the 
pockets  bulged  flabbily  from  sheer  force  of  habit, 
although  there  was   nothing  in   them. 

"  I  thought  you  were  to  have  a  new  suit,"  said 
the  girl.  "  Uncle  told  me  himself  he  was  going  to 
buy  you  one  yesterday  when  you  went  to  town." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  asked  him  to  buy  me  any- 
thing yesterday  for  more'n  a  suit   of  clothes." 

"Why?"  The  girl  opened  her  eyes.  "Didn't 
he  do  anything  with  the  lawyer  ?  Is  that  why 
you   are  both  so  glum   this  morning?" 

"  No,  he  didn't.  The  lawyer  says  the  woman 
that  owns  the  mortgage  has  got  to  have  the 
money.     And  it's  due   next  week." 

The  girl  grew  pale  all  over  her  pretty  rosy 
cheeks;  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  gasped, 
"  Oh,  how  hateful  of  her,  when  she  promised 

"  She    never   promised    nothing,    Eve ;    it    ain't 


48 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


been  hers  for  more  than  three  months.  Sloan, 
that  used  to  have  it,  died,  and  left  his  property  to 
be  divided  up  between  his  nieces;  and  the  mort- 
gage is  her  share.     See  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care,  it's  just  as  mean.  Mr.  Sloan 
promised." 

"No,  he  didn't;  he  jest  said  if  Uncle  was  be- 
hind lie  wouldn't  press  him  ;  and  he  did  let  Uncle 
get  behind  with  the  interest  two  times  and  never 
kicked.  But  he  died  ;  and  now  the  woman,  she 
wants    her   money  !  " 

"  I  think  it  is  mean  and  cruel  of  her  to  turn  us 
out!  Uncle  says  mortgages  are  wicked  anyhow, 
and   T    believe   him  ! 

"I  guess  he  couldn't  have  bought  this  place  if 
he  didn't  give  a  mortgage  on  it.  And  he'd  have 
had  enough  to  pay  cash,  too,  if  Richards  hadn't 
begged   him   so   to  lend   it   to   him." 

"When    is    Richards   going  to   pay  him?" 

"It  come  due  three  months  ago;  Richards 
ain't  never  paid  up  the  interest  even,  and  now 
he  says  he's  got  to  have  the  mortgage  extended 
for  three  years;  anyhow   for   two." 

"  But  don't  he  know  we've  got  to  pay  our  own 
mortgage?  How  can  we  help  him?  I  wish 
Uncle    would    sell    him    out!" 


THE   FACE    OE  FAILURE  49 

The  boy  gave  her  the  superior  smile  of  the 
masculine  creature.  "  I  suppose,"  he  remarket! 
with  elaborate  irony,  "  that  he's  like  Uncle  and 
you  ;  he   thinks   mortgages  are  wicked." 

"And  just  as  like  as  not  Uncle  won't  want 
to  go  to  the  carnival,"  Eve  went  on,  her  eyes 
filling  again. 

Tim  gazed  at  her,  scowling  and  sneering  ;  but 
she  was  absorbed  in  dreams  and  hopes  with  which 
as  yet  his  boyish  mind  had  no  point  of  contact. 

"All  the  girls  in  the  A  class  were  going  to  go 
to  see  the  fireworks  together,  and  George  Dean 
and  some  of  the  boys  were  going  to  take  us, 
and  we  were  going  to  have  tea  at  May  Arling- 
ton's house,  and  I  was  to  stay  all  night  ;  " — this 
came  in  a  half  sob.  "  I  think  it  is  just  too 
mean!      I   never  have  any  good  times!" 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do,  sis,  lots!  Uncle  always 
gits  you  everything  you  want.  And  he  feels 
terrible  bad  when  I — when  he  knows  he  can't 
afford  to  git  something  you  want — 

"  I  know  well  enough  who  tells  him  we  can't 
afford  things  !  " 

"  Well,  do  you  want  us  to  git  things  we 
can't  afford?  I  ain't  never  advised  him  except 
the  best  I  knew  how.  I  told  him  Richards 
4 


5o 


STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


was  a  blow-hard,  and  I  told  him  those  .Alliance 
grocery  folks  he  bought  such  a  lot  of  truck  of 
would  skin  him,  and  they  did  ;  those  canned 
things  the\-  sold  him  was  all  musty,  and  they 
said  there  wasn't  any  freight  on  'em,  and  he 
had  to  pay  freight  and  a  fancy  price  besides; 
and  I  don't  believe  they  had  any  more  to  do 
with   the  Alliance  than   our  cow!" 

"Uncle  always  believes  everything.  He 
always  is  so  sure  things  are  going  to  turn  out 
just  splendid  ;  and  they  don't — only  just  mid- 
dling ;  and   then   he  loses  a  lot   of  money." 

"  But  In-  is  an  awful  good  man,"  said  the  boy, 
musingly. 

"I  don't  believe  in  being  so  good  you  can't 
make  money.  I  don't  want  always  to  be  poor 
and  despised,  and  have  the  other  girls  have 
prettier  clothes  than   me  !  " 

"  I  guess  you  can  be  pretty  good  and  yet 
make  money,  if  you  are  sharp  enough.  Of 
course  you  got  to  be  sharper  to  be  good  and 
make  money  than  you  got  to  be,  to  be  mean 
and    make   money." 

"  Well,    I    know    one    thing,    that    Uncle    ain't 

ever   going    to    make    money.       He "       The 

last  word  shrivelled  on  her  lips,  which  puckered 


THE    FACE    OF  FAILURE  5  I 

into  a  confused  smile  at  the  warning  frown  of 
her  brother.  The  man  that  they  were  dis- 
cussing had  come  round  to  them  past  the  lien- 
house.      How  much  had  he  overheard  ? 

He  didn't  seem  angry,  anyhow.  He  called  : 
"  Well,  Evy,  ready  ?  "  and  Eve  was  glad  to  run 
into  the  house  for  her  hat  without  looking  at 
him.  It  was  a  relief  that  she  must  sit  on  the 
back  seat  where  she  need  not  face  Uncle  Nelson. 
Tim  sat  in  front  ;  but  Tim  was  so  stupid  he 
wouldn't  mind. 

Nor  did  he  ;  it  was  Nelson  Forrest  that  stole 
furtive  glances  at  the  lad's  profile,  the  knitted 
brows,  the  freckled  cheeks,  the  undecided  nose, 
and   firm   mouth. 

The  boyish  shoulders  slouched  forward  at  the 
same  angle  as  that  of  the  fifty-year-old  shoulders 
beside  him.  Nelson,  through  long  following  of 
the  plough,  had  lost  the  erect  carriage  painfully 
acquired  in  the  army.  He  was  a  handsome  man, 
whose  fresh-colored  skin  gave  him  a  perpetual 
appearance  of  having  just  washed  his  face.  The 
features  were  long  and  delicate.  The  brown  eyes 
had  a  liquid  softness  like  the  eyes  of  a  woman. 
In  general  the  countenance  was  alertly  intelli- 
gent ;  he  looked  younger  than,  his  years  ;  but  this 


afternoon  the  lines  about  his  mouth  and  in  his 
brows  warranted  every  gray  hair  of  his  pointed 
short  beard.  1  here  was  a  reason.  Nelson  was 
having  one  of  those  searing  flashes  of  insight  that 
do  come  occasionally  to  the  most  blindly  hopeful 
souls.  Nelson  had  hoped  all  his  life.  He  hoped 
for  himself,  he  hoped  for  the  whole  human  race. 
lie  served  the  abstraction  that  he  called  "  Pro- 
gress "  with  unflinching  and  unquestioning  loy- 
alty. Every  new  scheme  of  increasing  happiness 
by  force  found  a  helper,  a  fighter,  and  a  giver  in 
him;  i>v  turns  he  had  been  an  Abolitionist,  a 
Fourierist,  a  Socialist,  a  Greenbacker,  a  Farmers' 
Alliance  man.  Disappointment  always  was  fol- 
lowed hard  on  its  heels  by  a  brand-new  confi- 
dence. Progress  ruled  his  farm  as  well  as  his 
politics;  he  bought  the  newest  implements  and 
subscribed  trustfully  to  four  agricultural  papers; 
but  being  a  born  lnwa'  of  the  ground,  a  vein  of 
saving  doubt  did  assert  itself  sometimes  in  his 
work-;  and,  on  the  whole,  as  a  farmer  he  was 
successful.  But  his  success  never  ventured  out- 
side his  farm  gates.  At  buying  or  selling,  at  a 
bargain  in  any  form,  the  fourteen-year-old  Tim 
was  better  than  Nelson  with  his  fifty  years'  ex- 
perience of  a  wicked  and  bargaining  world. 


THE   FACE    OF  FAILURE  53 

Was  that  any  part  of  the  reason,  he  wondered 
to-day,  why  at  the  end  of  thirty  years  of  unflinch- 
ing toil  and  honesty,  he  found  himself  with  a  vast 
budget  of  experience  in  the  ruinous  loaning  of 
money,  with  a  mortgage  on  the  farm  of  a  friend, 
and  a  mortgage  on  his  own  farm  likely  to  be  fore- 
closed ?  Perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  to 
stay  in  Henry  Count}'.  He  had  paid  for  his  farm 
at  last.  He  had  known  a  good  moment,  too,  that 
day  he  drove  away  from  the  lawyer's  with  the 
cancelled  mortgage  in  his  pocket  and  Tim  hop- 
ping up  and  down  on  the  seat  for  joy.  But  the 
next  day  Richards — just  to  give  him  the  chance 
of  a  good  thing — had  brought  out  that  Maine 
man  who  wanted  to  buy  him  out.  He  was  anx- 
ious to  put  the  money  down  for  the  new  farm,  to 
have  no  whip-lash  of  debt  forever  whistling  about 
his  ears  as  he  ploughed,  ready  to  sting  did  he 
stumble  in  the  furrows  ;  and  Tim  was  more  anx- 
ious than  he  ;  but — there  was  Richards  !  Rich- 
ards was  a  neighbor  who  thought  as  he  did  about 
Henry  George  and  Spiritualism,  and  belonged  to 
the  Farmers'  Alliance,  and  had  lent  Nelson  all 
the  works  of  Henry  George  that  he  (Richards) 
could  borrow.  Richards  was  in  deep  trouble. 
He    had    lost    his    wife  ;   he    might    lose    his    farm. 


54 


STORIES   (>/■'  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


He  appealed  to  Nelson,  for  the  sake  of  old  friend- 
ship, to  save  him.  And  Nelson  could  not  resist  ; 
so,  two  thousand  of  the  thirty-four  hundred  dol- 
lars that  the  Maine  man  paid  went  to  Richards, 
the  latter  swearing  by  all  that  is  holy,  to  pay  his 
friend  off  in  full  at  the  end  of  the  year.  There 
was  money  coming  to  him  from  his  dead  wife's 
estate,  but  it  was  tied  up  in  the  courts.  Nelson 
would  not  listen  to  Tim's  prophecies  of  evil.  But 
he  was  a  little  dashed  when  Richards  paid  neither 
interest  nor  principal  at  the  year's  end,  although 
he  gave  reasons  of  weight;  and  he  experienced 
veritable  consternation  when  the  renewed  mort- 
gage ran  its  course  and  still  Richards  could  not 
pay.  The  money  from  Ins  wife's  estate  had  been 
used  to  improve  his  farm  (Nelson  knew  how  run- 
down everything  was),  his  new  wife  was  sickly 
and  "didn't  seem  to  take  hold,"  there  had  been 
a  disastrous  hail-storm  —  but  win*  rehearse  the 
calamities?  they  focussed  on  one  sentence:  it 
was   impossible    to   pay. 

Then  Nelson,  who  had  been  restfully  count- 
ing on  the  mono}'  from  Richards  for  his  own 
debt,  bestirred  himself,  only  to  find  his  patient 
creditor  gone  and  a  woman  in  his  stead  who 
must     have     her     money.        lie     wrote     again — ■ 


56 


S70RIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


sorely  against  his  will — begging  Richards  to  raise 
the  money  somehow.  Richards's  answer  was 
in  his  pocket,  for  he  wore  the  best  black  broad- 
cloth in  which  lie  had  dune  honor  to  the  law- 
yer, yesterday.  Richards  plainly  was  wounded; 
but  lie  explained  in  detail  to  Nelson  how  he 
(Nelson)  could  borrow  money  of  the  banks  on 
his  farm  and  pay  Miss  Brown.  There  was  no 
bank  where  Richards  could  borrow  money; 
and  lie  begged  Nelson  not  to  drive  his  wife 
and  little  children  from  their  cherished  home. 
Nelson  choked  over  the  pathos  when  he  read 
the  letter  to  Tim  ;  but  Tim  only  grunted  a 
wish  that  he  had  the  handling-  of  that  feller. 
And  the  lawyer  was  as  little  moved  as  Tim. 
Miss  Brown  needed  the  money,  he  said.  The 
banks  were  not  disposed  to  lend  just  at  pres- 
ent ;  money,  it  appeared,  was  "  tight  ;  "  so,  in 
the  end.  Nelson  drove  home  with  the  face 
of  Failure  staring  at  him  between  his  horses' 
ears. 

There  was  only  one  way.  Should  he  make 
Richards  suffer  or  suffer  himself?  Did  a  man 
have  to  grind  other  people  or  be  ground  him- 
self? Meanwhile  they  had  reached  the  town. 
The   stir   of   a  festival  was   in  the   air.     On    every 


Money,    it  appeared,    was    "tight. 


5<s  STORIES   Of  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

side  bunting  streamed  in  the  breeze  or  was 
draped  across  brick  or  wood.  Arches  spanned 
sonic  of  the  streets,  with  inscriptions  of  welcome 
on  them,  and  swarms  ol  colored  lanterns  glit- 
tered against  the  sunlight  almost  as  gayly  as 
they  would  show  when  they  should  be  lighted 
at  night.  Little  children  ran  about  waving 
flags.  Grocer}'  wagons  and  butchers'  wagons 
trotted  by  with  a  Hash  of  flags  dangling  from 
the  horses'  harness.  The  streets  were  filled 
with  people  in  their  holiday  clothes.  Every- 
body smiled.  The  shopkeepers  answered  ques- 
tions and  went  out  on  the  sidewalks  to  direct 
strangers.  From  one  window  hung  a  banner 
inviting  visitors  to  enter  and  get  a  list  of 
hotels  and  boarding-houses.  The  crowd  was 
entirely  good-humored  and  waited  outside  res- 
taurants, bandying  je-kes  with  true  Western 
philosophy.  At  times  the  wagons  made  a 
temporary  blockade  in  the  street,  but  no  one 
grumbled.  Bands  of  music  paraded  past  them, 
the  escort  for  visitors  of  especial  consideration. 
In  a  window  belonging,  the  sign  above  de- 
clared, to  the  Business  Men's  Association, 
stood  a  huge  doll  clad  in  blue  satin,  on  which 
was    painted    a    device    of    Neptune    sailing    down 


THE   FACE    OF  FAILURE  59 

the  Mississippi  amid  a  storm  of  fireworks. 
The  doll  stood  in  a  boat  arched  about  with 
lantern-decked  hoops,  and  while  Nelson  halted, 
unable  to  proceed,  he  could  hear  the  voluble 
explanation  of  the  proud  citizen  who  was  inter- 
preting  to  strangers. 

This,  Nelson  thought,  was  success.  Here  were 
the  successful  men.  The  man  who  had  failed 
looked  at  them.  Eve  roused  him  by  a  shrill  cry, 
"There  they  are.  There's  Ma}'  and  the  girls. 
Let  me  out  quick,  Uncle! 

He  stopped  the  horse  and  jumped  out  himself 
to  help  her.  It  was  the  first  time  since  she  came 
under  his  roof  that  she  had  been  away  from  it  all 
night.  He  cleared  his  throat  for  some  advice 
on  behavior.  "  Mind  and  be  respectful  to  Mrs. 
Arlington.  Say  yes,  ma'am,  and  no,  ma'am — 
He  got  no  further,  for  Eve  gave  him  a  hasty  kiss 
and  the  crowd   brushed   her  away. 

"All  she  thinks  of  is  wearing  fine  clothes  and 
going  with  the  fellers!  "  said  her  brother,  disdain- 
fully. "  If  I  had  to  be  born  a  girl,  I  wouldn't 
be  born  at  all  !  " 

"  Maybe  if  you  despise  girls  so,  you'll  be  born 
a  girl  the  next  time,"  said  Nelson.  "  Some  folks 
thinks  that's  how  it  happens  with   us." 


60  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

"Do  you.  Uncle?"  asked  Tim,  running  his 
mind  forebodingly  over  the  possible  business 
results  of  such  a  belief.  "  S'posing  he  shouldn't 
be  willing  In  sell  the  pigs  to  be  killed,  'cause  they 
might  be  some  friends  of  his  !  "  he  reflected,  with 
a  rising  tide  of  consternation. 

Nelson  smiled  rather  sadly,  lie  said,  in  an- 
other tone :  "Tim,  I've  thought  so  many  things, 
that  now  I've  about  given  up  thinking.  All  I 
can  do  is  to  live  along  the  best  way  I  know 
how  and  help  the  world  move  the  best  I'm 
able." 

'•  You  bet  /  ain't  going  to  help  the  world 
move,"  said  the  boy  :  "  I'm  going  to  look  out  for 
myself !  " 

"Then  my  training  of  you  has  turned  out 
pretty  badly,  if  that's  the  way  you   feel." 

A  little  shiver  passed  over  the  lad's  sullen  face  ; 
he  Hushed  until  he  lost  his  freckles  in  the  red 
veil,  and  burst  out  passionately:  "Well,  I  got 
eyes,  ain't  I?  I  ain't  going  to  be  bad,  or  drink, 
.or  steal,  or  do  things  to  git  put  in  the  peniten- 
tiary ;  but  I  ain't  going  to  let  folks  walk  all  over 
me  like  you  do  ;   no,   sir  !  " 

Nelson  did  not  answer  ;  in  his  heart  he  thought 
that  he  had   failed  with  the  children,  too;  and  he 


THE  FACE   OF  FAILURE  6 1 

relapsed  into  that  dismal  study  of  the  face  of 
Failure. 

He  had  come  to  the  city  to  show  Tim  the 
sights,  and,  therefore,  though  like  a  man  in  a 
dream,  he  drove  conscientiously  about  the  gay 
streets,  pointing  out  whatever  he  thought  might 
interest  the  boy,  and  generally  discovering  that 
Tim  had  the  new  information  by  heart  already. 
All  the  while  a  question  pounded  itself,  like  the 
beat  of  the  heart  of  an  engine,  through  the  noise 
and  the  talk  :  "  Shall  I  give  up  Richards  or  be 
turned    out    myself?" 

When  the  afternoon  sunlight  waned  he  put  up 
the  horse  at  a  modest  little  stable  where  farmers 
were  allowed  to  bring  their  own  provender.  The 
charges  were  of  the  smallest  and  the  place  neat 
and  weather-tight,  but  it  had  been  a  long  time 
before  Nelson  could  be  induced  to  use  it,  because 
there  was  a  higher-priced  stable  kept  by  an  ex- 
farmer  and  member  of  the  Farmers'  Alliance. 
Only  the  fact  that  the  keeper  of  the  low-priced 
stable  was  a  poor  orphan  girl,  struggling  to  earn 
an  honest    livelihood,  had  moved  him. 

They  had  supper  at  a  restaurant  of  Tim's  dis- 
covery, small,  specklessly  tidy,  and  as  unexacting 
of  the  pocket  as  the   stable.      It  was   an    excellent 


62 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


supper.  J Uit  Nelson  had  no  appetite  :  in  spite  of 
an  almost  childish  capacity  for  being  diverted,  he 
could  attend  to  nothing  but  the  question  always 

in  his  ears  :   "  Richards  or  me  —  which  ?  " 

Until  it  should  be  time  for  the  spectacle  they 
walked  down  the  hill,  and  watched  the  crowds 
gradually  blacken  every  inch  of  the  river-banks. 
Already  the  swarms  of  lanterns  were  beginning 
to  bloom  out  in  the  dusk.  Strains  of  music 
throbbed  through  the  air.  adding  a  poignant 
touch  to  the  excitement  vibrating  in  all  the  faces 
and  voices  about  them.  Even  the  stolid  Tim  felt 
the  contagion.  lie  walked  with  a  jaunty  step 
and  assaulted  a  tune  himself.  "  I  tell  you, 
Uncle,"  says  Tim,  "  it's  nice  of  these  folks  to  be 
getting  up  all  this  show,  and  giving  it  for  noth- 
ing!" 

"Do  you  think  so?"  says  Nelson.  "Von  don't 
love  your  book  as  I  wish  you  did  ;  but  I  guess 
you  remember  about  the  ancient  Romans,  and 
how  the  great,  rich  Romans  used  to  spend  enor- 
mous sums  in  games  and  shows  that  they  let  the 
people  in  free  to — well,  what  for  ?  Was  it  to 
learn  them  anything  or  to  make  them  happy? 
Oh,  no,  it  was  to  keep  down  the  spirit  of  liberty, 
Son,  it  was  to   make  them   content   to  be  slaves  ! 


64 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


And  so  it  is  here.  These  merchants  and  capital- 
ists are  only  looking  out  for  themselves,  trying 
to  keep  labor  down  and  not  let  it  know  how 
oppressed  it  is,  trying  to  get  people  here  from 
everywhere  to  show  what  a  fine  city  they  have 
and   get   their  money." 

"  Well,  'tis  a  fine  town,"  Tim  burst  in.  "  a  boss 
town!  And  they  ain't  gouging  folks  a  little  bit. 
None  ol  tlie  hotels  or  the  restaurants  have  put 
up  their  prices  one  cent.  Look  what  a  dandy 
supper  we  got  for  twenty-five  cents!  And  ain't 
the  boy  at  Lumley's  grocery  given  me  two  tickets 
to  set  on  the  steamboat  ?  There's  nothing  mean 
about   this   town  !  " 

Nelson  made  no  remark  :  but  he  thought,  for 
the  fiftieth  time,  that  his  farm  was  too  near  the 
city.  Tim  was  picking  up  all  the  city  boys'  false 
pride  as  well  as  their  slang.  Unconscious  Tim 
resumed  his  tune.  He  knew  that  it  was  "Annie 
Rooney "  if  no  one  else  did,  and  he  mangled  the 
notes  with  appropriate  exhilaration. 

Now,  the  river  was  as  bus}-  as  the  land,  lights 
swimming  hither  and  thither;  steamboats  with 
ropes  of  tiny  stars  bespangling  their  dark  bulk 
and  a  white  electric  glare  in  the  bow,  low  boats 
with    hVhts   that    sent   wavering''  spear-heads   into 


THE    FACE    OF  FAILURE  <"»5 

the  shadow  beneath.  The  bridge  was  a  blazing 
barbed  fence  of  fire,  and  beyond  the  bridge,  at 
the  point  of  the  island,  lay  a  glittering  multitude 
of  lights,  a  fair)-  fleet  with  miniature  sails  out- 
lined  in  flame  as  if  by  jewels. 

Nelson  followed  Tim.  The  crowds,  the  cease- 
less clatter  of  tongues  and  jar  of  wheels,  depressed 
the  man,  who  hardly  knew  which  way  to  dodge 
the  multitudinous  perils  of  the  thoroughfare  ;  but 
Tim  used  his  elbows  to  such  good  purpose  that 
they  were  out  of  the  levee,  on  the  steamboat,  and 
settling  themselves  in  two  comfortable  chairs  in 
a  coign  of  vantage  on  deck,  that  commanded 
the  best  obtainable  view  of  the  pageant,  before 
Nelson  had  gathered  his  wits  together  enough  to 
plan  a  path  out  of  the  crush. 

"  I  sized  up  this  place  from  the  shore,"  Tim 
sighed  complacently,  drawing  a  long  breath  of 
relief;  "only  jest  two  chairs,  so  we  won't  be 
crowded." 

Obediently,  Nelson  took  his  chair.  His  head 
sank  on  his  thin  chest.  Richards  or  himself, 
which  should  he  sacrifice  ?  So  the  weary  old 
question  droned  through  his  brain.  He  felt  a 
tap  on  his  shoulder.  The  man  who  roused  him 
was  an  acquaintance,  and  he  stood  smiling  in  the 
5 


66 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


attitude  cf  a  man  about  to  ask  a  favor,  while  the 
expectant  hall-smile  of  the  lady  on  his  arm 
hinted  at  the  nature  of  the  favor.  Would  Mr. 
Forrest  he  so  kind.' — there  seemed  to  be  no  more 
--cits.  Before  Mr.  Forrest  could  be  kind  Tim 
had  yielded  his  own  chair  and  was  off,  wriggling 
among  the  crowd  in  search  of  another  place. 

"  Smart  boy,  th.it  youngster  of  yours,"  said  the 
man  ;  "he'll  make  his  way  in  the  world,  he  can 
push.  Well,  Miss  Alma,  let  me  make  you  ac- 
quainted with  Mr.  Forrest.  I  know  you  will  be 
well  entertained  by  him.  So,  if  you'll  excuse 
me,  I'll  get  back  and  help  my  wife  wrestle  with 
the  kids.  The\-  have  been  trying  to  see  which 
will  fall  overboard  first  ever  since  we  came  on 
deck  !  " 

Under  the  leeway  of  this  pleasantry  he  bowed 
and  retired.  Nelson  turned  with  determined 
politeness  to  the  lady.  He  was  sorry  that  she 
had  come,  she  looking  to  him  a  very  fine  lady 
indeed,  with  her  black  silk  gown,  her  shining 
black  ornaments,  and  her  bright  black  eyes.  She 
was  not  young,  but  handsome  in  Nelson's  judg- 
ment, although  of  a  haughty  bearing.  "  Maybe 
she  is  the  principal  of  the  High  School,"  thought 
he.     "  Martin   has   her  for  a  boarder,  and   he  said 


THE   FACE    OF  FAILURE  67 

she  was  very  particular  about  her  melons  being 
cold  !  " 

But  however  formidable  a  personage,  the  lady 
must   be  entertained. 

"  I  expect  you  are  a  resident  of  the  city, 
ma'am?"   said   Nelson. 

"  Yes,  I  was  born  here."  She  smiled,  a  smile 
that  revealed  a  little  break  in  the  curve  of  her 
cheek,  not   exactly  a  dimple,   but   like  one. 

"I  don't  know  when  I  have  seen  such  a  fine 
appearing  lady,"  thought  Nelson.  lie  respond- 
ed :  "  Well,  I  wasn't  born  here  ;  but  I  come  when 
I  was  a  little  shaver  of  ten  and  stayed  till  I  was 
eighteen,  when  I  went  to  Kansas  to  help  fight 
the  border  ruffians.  I  went  to  school  here  in  the 
Warren   Street  schookhouse." 

"  So  did  I,  as  long  as  I  went  anywhere  to 
school.  I  had  to  go  to  work  when  I  was 
twelve." 

Nelson's  amazement  took  shape  before  his 
courtesy  had  a  chance  to  control  it.  "  I  didn't 
suppose  you  ever  did  any  work  in  your  life !  " 
cried  he. 

"  I  guess  I  haven't  done  much  else.  Father 
died  when  I  was  twelve  and  the  oldest  of  five, 
the  next   only   eight — Polly,   that   came   between 


68 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


Eb  and  mc,  died — naturally  I  had  to  work.  I 
was  a  nurse-girl  by  the  day,  first  ;  and  I  never 
shall  forget  how  kind  the  woman  was  to  me. 
She  gave  mc  so  much  dinner  I  never  needed  to 
eat   any  breakfast,   which   was  a   help." 

"You  poor  little  thing!  I'm  afraid  you  went 
hungry  sometimes."  Immediately  he  marvelled 
at  his  familiar  speech,  but  she  did  not  seem 
to   resent    it. 

"No,  not  so  often,"  she  said,  musingly  ;  "but  I 
used  often  and  often  to  wish  I  could  carry  some 
of  the  nice  things  home  to  mother  and  the  babies. 
After  a  while  she  would  give  me  a  cookey  or  a 
piece  of  bread  and  butter  for  lunch  ;  that  I  could 
take  home.  I  don't  suppose  I'll  often  have  more 
pleasure  than  I  used  to  have  then,  seeing  little  Eb 

waiting  for  sister  ;  and  the  baby  and  mother " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  to  continue,  in  an  instant, 
with  a  kind  of  laugh  ;  "  I  am  never  likely  to  feel 
so  important  again  as  I  did  then,  either.  It  was 
great  to  have  mother  consulting  me.  as  if  I  had 
been  grown  up.  I  felt  like  I  had  the  weight  of 
the  nation  on   my  shoulders,  I  assure  you." 

"  And  have  you  always  worked  since  ?  You 
are  not  working  out  now?"  with  a  glance  at  her 
shining  <rown. 


THE   FACE    OF  FAILURE  69 

"  Oh,  no,  not  for  a  long  time.  I  learned  to  be  a 
cook.  I  was  a  good  cook,  too,  if  I  say  it  myself. 
I  worked  for  the  Lossings  for  four  years.  I  am 
not  a  bit  ashamed  of  being  a  hired  girl,  for  I  was 
as  good  a  one  as  I  knew  how.  It  was  Mrs. 
Lossing  that  first  lent  me  books  ;  and  Marry  Loss- 
ing,  who  is  head  of  the  firm  now,  got  Ebenezer 
into  the  works.  Ebenezer  is  shipping-clerk  with  a 
good  salary  and  stock  in  the  concern  ;  and  Ralph 
is  there,  learning  the  trade.  I  went  to  the  busi- 
ness-college and  learned  book-keeping,  and  after- 
ward I  learned  typewriting  and  shorthand.  I 
have  been  working  for  the  firm  for  fourteen  years. 
We  have  educated  the  girls.  Milly  is  married, 
and   Kitty  goes  to  the  boarding-school,  here." 

"Then  you  haven't  been  married  yourself?" 

"  What  time  did  I  have  to  think  of  being  mar- 
ried ?  I  had  the  family  on  my  mind,  and  looking 
after  them." 

"  That  was  more  fortunate  for  your  family  than 
it  was  for  my  sex,"  said  Nelson,  gallantly.  He 
accompanied  the  compliment  by  a  glance  of  admi- 
ration, extinguished  in  an  eye-flash,  for  the  white 
radiance  that  had  bathed  the  deck  suddenly  van- 
ished. 

"  Now   you   will   see  a  lovely   sight,"    said    the 


7o 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


woman,  deigning  no  reply  to  his  tribute;  "listen  ! 
That  is  the  signal." 

The  air  was  shaken  with  the  boom  of  cannon. 
(  )ncc,  twice,  thrice  Directly  the  boat-whistles 
took  up  the  roar,  making  a  hideous  din.  The 
fleet  had  moved.  Spouting  rockets  and  Roman 
candles,  which  painted  above  it  a  kaleidoscopic 
archway  of  tire,  welcomed  by  answering  javelins 
of  light  and  red  and  orange  and  blue  and  green 
flares  from  the  shore;  the  fleet  bombarded  the 
bridge,  escorted  Neptune  in  his  car,  manoeuvred 
and  massed  and  charged  on  the  blazing  city 
with  a  many-hued  shower  of  flame. 

After  the  boats,  silently,  softly,  floated  the  bat- 
talions of  lanterns,  so  close  to  the  water  that  they 
seemed  flaming  water-lilies,  while  the  dusk)'  mir- 
ror repeated   and   inverted   their  splendor. 

"  They're  shingles,  you  know."  explained  Nel- 
son's companion,  "with  lanterns  on  them;  but 
aren't  they  pretty?" 

"Yes,  the)-  are!  1  wish  you  had  not  told  me. 
It  is   like  a   fail'}'  story!" 

"Ain't  it?  But  we  aren't  through;  there's 
more  to  come.      Beautiful   fireworks  !  " 

The  fireworks,  however,  were  slow  of  coming. 
Thev  could   see  the  barge  from  which   they  were 


THE   FACE    OF  FAILURE  /I 

to  be  sent  ;  they  could  watch  the  movements 
of  the  men  in  white  oil-cloth  who  moved  in  a 
ghostly  fashion  about  the  barge  ;  they  could  hear 
the  tap  of  hammers  ;  but  nothing  came  of  it  all. 

They  sat  in  the  darkness,  waiting  ;  and  there 
came  to  Nelson  a  strange  sensation  of  being  alone 
and  apart  from  all  the  breathing  world  with  this 
woman.  He  did  not  perceive  that  Tim  had 
quietly  returned  with  a  box  which  did  very  well 
for  a  scat,  and  was  sitting  with  his  knees  against 
the  chair-rungs.  He  seemed  to  be  somehow  out- 
side of  all  the  tumult  and  the  spectacle.  It  was 
the  vainglorying  triumph  of  this  world.  He  was 
the  soul  outside,  the  soul  that  had  missed  its  tri- 
umph. In  his  perplexity  and  loneliness  he  felt 
an  overwhelming  longing  for  sympathy  ;  neither 
did  it  strike  Nelson,  who  believed  in  all  sorts  of 
occult  influences,  that  his  confidence  in  a  stranger 
was  unwarranted.  He  would  have  told  you  that 
his  "psychic  instincts"  never  played  him  false, 
although  really  they  were  traitors  from  their 
astral  cradles  to  their  astral  graves. 

He  said  in  a  hesitating  way:  "You  must 
excuse  me  being  kinder  dull  ;  I've  got  some 
serious  business  on  my  mind  and  I  can't  help 
thinking  of  it." 


7^ 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


"Is  that  so?  Well,  I  know  how  that  is;  I 
have  often  stayed  awake  nights  worrying  about 
things.  Lest  I  shouldn't  suit  and  all  that — 
especially  after  mother  took  sick." 

"I  s'pose  you  had  to  give  up  and  nurse  her 
then  ?  " 

'•That  was  what  Ebenezcr  and  Ralph  were  for 
having  me  do;  but  mother  —  my  mother  always 
had  so  much  sense — mother  says,  '  No,  Alma, 
you've  got  a  good  place  and  a  chance  in  life,  you 
sha'n't  give  it  up.  We'll  hire  a  girl.  I  ain't 
never  lonesome  except  evenings,  and  then  you 
will  be  home.  I  should  jest  want  to  die,'  she 
says,  'if  I  thought  I  kept  you  in  a  kind  of 
prison  like  by  my  being  sick — now,  just  when 
you  are  getting  on  so  well.'  There  never  was 
a  woman  like  my  mother!"  Her  voice  shook 
a    little,    and    Nelson    asked    gently: 

"Ain't  your  mother  living  now?" 

"  No,  she  died  last  year."  She  added,  after  a 
little  silence,  "  I  somehow  can't  get  used  to  being 
lonesome." 

"  It  is  hard,"  said  Nelson.  "  I  lost  my  wife 
three  years  ago." 

"  That's   hard,   too." 

"  My  goodness  !   I  guess  it  is.     And   it's  hardest 


THE   EACE    OF  FAILURE  73 

when  trouble  comes  on  a  man  and  he  can't  go 
nowhere  for  advice." 

"Yes,  that's  so,  too.  But — have  you  any 
children  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  that  is,  the)'  ain't  my  own  chil- 
dren. Lizzie  and  I  never  had  any ;  but  these 
two  we  took  and  they  are  most  like  my  own. 
The  girl  is  eighteen  and  the  boy  rising  of  four- 
teen." 

"They  must  be  a  comfort  to  you  ;  but  they  are 
considerable  of  a  responsibility,  too." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  sighed  softly  to  himself. 
"  Sometimes  I  feel  I  haven't  done  the  right  way 
by  them,  though  I've  tried.  Not  that  they  ain't 
good  children,  for  they  are — no  better  anywhere. 
Tim,  he  will  work  from  morning  till  night,  and 
never  need  to  urge  him  ;  and  he  never  gives  me 
a  promise  he  don't  keep  it,  no  ma'am,  never  did 
since  he  was  a  little  mite  of  a  lad.  And  he  is  a 
kind  boy,  too,  always  good  to  the  beasts  ;  and 
while  he  may  speak  up  a  little  short  to  his  sister, 
he  saves  her  many  a  step.  He  doesn't  take  to 
his  studies  quite  as  I  would  like  to  have  him,  but 
he  has  a  wonderful  head  for  business.  There  is 
splendid  stuff  in  Tim  if  it  could  only  be  worked 
rioht." 


74 


STOEIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


While  Nelson  spoke,  Tim  was  hunching  his 
shoulders  forward  in  the  darkness,  listening  with 

the  whole  of  two  sharp  ears.  His  face  worked  in 
spite  of  him,  and  he  gave  an  inarticulate  snort. 

"  Well,"  the  woman  said,  "  I  think  that  speaks 
well  for  Tim.  Why  should  you  be  worried  about 
him  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  getting  to  love  money  and 
worldly  success  too  well,  and  that  is  what  I  fear 
for  the  girl,  too.  You  see,  she  is  so  pretty,  and 
the  idols  of  the  tribe  and  the  market,  as  Bacon 
calls  them,  are   strong  with   the  young." 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  the  woman  assented  vaguely, 
not  at  all  sure  what  either  Bacon  or  his  idols 
might  be.  "  Are  the  children  relations  of 
yours  ? 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  it  was  like  this  :  When  I  was  up 
in  Henry  County  there  came  a  photographic  ar- 
tist to  the  village  near  us.  and  pitched  his  tent 
and  took  tintypes  in  his  wagon.  He  had  his 
wife  and  his  two  children  with  him.  The  poor 
woman  fell  ill  and  died;  so  we  took  the  two 
children.  My  wife  was  willing  ;  she  was  a  won- 
derfully good  woman,  member  of  the  Methodist 
church  till  she  died.  I  —  I  am  not  a  church  mem- 
ber myself,  ma'am;   I   passed   through   that   stage 


, 


■A- 


76 


STOKIES   OF   .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


ol  spiritual  development  a  long  while  ago."  He 
gave  a  wistful  glance  at  his  companion's  dimly 
outlined  profile.  "  But  I  never  tried  to  disturb 
her  faith  ;   it   made   her  happy." 

"Oh,  1  don't  think  it  is  any  good  fooling  with 
other  people's  religions,"  said  the  woman,  easily. 
"  it  is  just  like  trying  to  talk  folks  out  of  drink- 
ing ;  nobody  knows  what  is  right  for  anybody 
else's  soul  anymore  than  they  do  what  is  good 
for  anybody  else's    stomach  ! 

"  Yes,  ma'am.      You   put   things   very  clear!}'." 

"1  guess  it  is  because  you  understand  so 
quickly.      But  you   were  saying — 

"That's  all  the  story.  We  took  the  children, 
and  their  father  was  killed  by  the  cars  the  next 
year,  poor  man;  and  so  we  have  done  the  best  we 
could   ever  since   by  them." 

"I  should  say  you  had  done  very  well  by 
them." 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  I  haven't  done  very  well  some- 
how by  anyone,  myself  included,  though  God 
knows   I've  tried  hard   enough!" 

Then  followed  the  silence  natural  after  such  a 
confession  when  the  listener  does  not  know  the 
speaker  well  enough  to  parry  abasement  by 
denial. 


THE   FACE    OF  FAILURE  77 

"  I  am  impressed,"  said  Nelson,  simply,  "  to 
talk  with  you  frankly.  It  isn't  polite  to  bother 
strangers  with  your  troubles,  but  I  am  impressed 
that  you  won't  mind." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  won't  mind." 

It  was  not  extravagant  sympathy;  but  Nelson 
thought  how  kind  her  voice  sounded,  and  what  a 
musical  voice  it  was.  Most  people  would  have 
called  it  rather  sharp. 

He  told  her — with  surprisingly  little  egotism, 
as  the  keen  listener  noted — the  story  of  his  life  ; 
the  struggle  of  his  boyhood ;  his  random  self- 
education  ;  his  years  in  the  army  (he  had  criticised 
his  superior  officers,  thereby  losing  the  promotion 
that  was  coming  for  bravery  in  the  field)  ;  his  mar- 
riage (apparently  he  had  married  his  wife  because 
another  man  had  jilted  her)  ;  his  wrestle  with 
nature  (whose  pranks  included  a  cyclone)  on  a 
frontier  farm  that  he  eventually  lost,  having  put 
all  his  savings  into  a  "  Greenback  "  newspaper, 
and  being  thus  swamped  with  debt  ;  his  final  slow 
success  in  paying  for  his  Iowa  farm  ;  and  his  pur- 
chase of  the  new  farm,  with  its  resulting  disaster. 
"  I've  farmed  in  Kansas,"  he  said,  "  in  Nebraska, 
in  Dakota,  in  Iowa.  I  was  willing  to  go  wherever 
the  land  promised.      It  always  seemed  like  I  was 


;S  STORIES   Of    .1    WESTERN    TOWN 

going  to  succeed,  but  somehow  I  never  did.  The 
world  ain't  fixed  right  for  the  workers,  I  take  it. 
A  man  who  has  spent  thirty  years  in  hard,  honest 
toil  oughtn't  to  be  staring  ruin  in  the  face  like  1 
am  to-day.  They  won't  let  it  be  so  when  we  have 
the  single  tax  and  when  we  farmers  send  our  own 
men  instead  of  city  lawyers,  to  the  Legislature 
and  halls  of  Congress.  Sometimes  I  think  it's 
the  world  that's  wrong  and  sometimes  1  think  it's 
me!" 

The  reply  came  in  crisp  ami  assured  accents, 
which  were  the  strongest  contrast  to  Nelson's 
soft,  undecided  pipe:  "Seems  to  me  in  this  last 
case  the  one  most  to  blame  is  neither  you  nor  the 
world  at  large,  but  this  man  Richards,  who  is  ask- 
ing you  to  pay  for  his  farm.  And  I  notice  you 
don  t  seem  to  consider  your  creditor  in  this  busi- 
ness. How  do  you  know  she  don't  need  the 
money?  Look  at  me,  for  instance;  I'm  in  some 
financial  difficulty  myself.  I  have  a  mortgage  for 
two  thousand  dollars,  and  that  mortgage — for 
which  good  value  was  given,  mind  you  —  falls  due 
this  month.  I  want  the  money.  I  want  it  bad. 
I  have  a  chance  to  put  my  money  into  stock  at 
the  factor}'.  I  know  all  about  the  investment  ; 
I    haven't    worked    there   all   these  years   ami   not 


THE   FACE    OF  FAILURE  79 

know  how  the  business  stands.  It  is  a  chance 
to  make  a  fortune.  I  ain't  likely  to  ever  have 
another  like  it ;  and  it  won't  wait  for  me  to  make 
up  my  mind  forever,  either.  Isn't  it  hard  on  me, 
too?" 

"  Lord  knows  it  is,  ma'am,"  said  Nelson,  de- 
spondently ;  "  it  is  hard  on  us  all  !  Sometimes  I 
don't  see  the  end  of  it  all.  A  vast  social  revolu- 
tion  " 

"  Social  fiddlesticks  !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr. 
Forrest,  but  it  puts  me  out  of  patience  to  have 
people  expecting  to  be  allowed  to  make  every 
mortal  kind  of  fools  of  themselves  and  then  have 
'a  social  revolution  '  jump  in  to  slue  off  the  con- 
sequences. Let  us  understand  each  other.  Who 
do  you  suppose  I   am  ?  " 

"  Miss—  Miss  Aimer,  ain't   it?" 

"  It's  Alma  Brown,  Mr.  Forrest.  I  saw  you 
coming  on  the  boat  and  I  made  Mr.  Martin  fetch 
me  over  to  you.  I  told  him  not  to  say  my  name, 
because  I  wanted  a  good  plain  talk  with  you. 
Well,  I've  had  it.  Things  are  just  about  where 
I  thought  they  were,  and  I  told  Mr.  Lossing  so. 
But  I  couldn't  be  sure.  You  must  have  thought 
me  a  funny  kind  of  woman  to  be  telling  you  all 
those  things  about  myself." 


So 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


Nelson,  who  had  changed  color  half  a  dozen 
times  in  the  darkness,  sighed  before  he  said: 
"  No,  ma'am  :  I  only  thought  how  good  you  were 
to  tell  me.  I  hoped  maybe  you  were  impressed 
to  trust   me  as   1  was  to   trust  you." 

Being  so  dark  Nelson  could  not  see  the  queer 
expression  on  her  face  as  she  slowly  shook  her 
head.  She  was  thinking:  "If  I  ever  saw  a  babe 
in  arms  trying  to  do  business  !  How  did  he  ever 
pay  for  a  farm?"  She  said:  "  Well,  I  did  it  on 
purpose;  I  wanted  you  to  know  I  wasn't  a  cruel 
aristocrat,  but  a  woman  that  had  worked  as  hard 
as  yourself.  Now,  why  shouldn't  you  help  me 
and  yourself  instead  of  helping  Richards?  You 
have  confidence  in  me,  you  say.  Well,  show  it. 
I'll  give  you  your  mortgage  for  your  mortgage  on 
Richards's  farm.  Come,  can't  you  trust  Richards 
to  me?     You   think"  it   over." 

The  hiss  of  a  rocket  hurled  her  words  into 
space.  The  fireworks  had  begun.  Miss  Brown 
looked  at  them  and  watched  Nelson  at  the  same 
time.  As  a  good  business  woman  who  was  also 
a  good  citizen,  having  subscribed  five  dollars  to 
the  carnival,  she  did  not  propose  to  lose  the 
worth  of  her  money  :  neither  did  she  intend  to 
lose  a  chance  to  do  business.      Perhaps  there  was 


THE    FACE    OF  FAILURE  8 1 

an  obscurer  and  more  complex  motive  lurking  in 
some  stray  corner  of  that  queer  garret,  a  woman's 
mind.  Such  motives — aimless  softenings  of  the 
heart,  unprofitable  diversions  of  the  fancy— will 
seep  unconsciously  through  the  toughest  business 
principles  of  woman. 

She  was  puzzled  by  the  look  of  exaltation 
on  Nelson's  features,  illumined  as  they  were  by 
the  uncanny  light.  If  the  fool  man  had  not  for- 
gotten all  his  troubles  just  to  see  a  few  fire- 
works !  No,  he  was  not  that  kind  of  a  fool  ; 
maybe — and  she  almost  laughed  aloud  in  her 
pleasure  over  her  own  insight  —  maybe  it  all 
made  him  think  of  the  war,  where  he  had  been 
so  brave.  "  He  was  a  regular  hero  in  the  war," 
Miss  Brown  concluded,  "  and  he  certainly  is  a 
perfect  gentleman  ;  what  a  pity  he  hasn't  got 
any  sense !  " 

She  had  guessed  aright,  although  she  had  not 
guessed  deep  enough  in  regard  to  Nelson.  He 
watched  the  great  wheels  of  light,  he  watched 
the  river  aflame  with  Greek  fire,  then,  with  a 
shiver,  he  watched  the  bombs  bursting  into 
myriads  of  flowers,  into  fizzing  snakes,  into  fields 
of  burning  gold,  into  showers  of  jewels  that  made 
the  night  splendid  for  a  second  and  faded.  They 
6 


82 


STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOIVX 


were  ii( it  fireworks  to  him  ;  they  were  a  magi- 
cal phantasmagoria  that  renewed  the  incoherent 
and  violent  emotions  of  his  youth  ;  again  he  was 
in  the  chaos  of  the  battle,  or  he  was  dreaming  by 
his  camp-fire,  or  he  was  pacing  his  lonely  round 
on  guard.  His  heart  leaped  again  with  the  old 
glow,  the  wonderful,  beautiful  worship  of  Liberty 
that  can  do  no  wrong.  He  seemed  to  hear  a 
thousand  voices  chanting: 

"  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sen. 
As  lie  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free  !" 


His  turbid  musings  cleared — or  the}*  seemed 
to  him  to  clear — under  the  strong  reaction  of 
his  imagination  and  his  memories.  It  was  all 
over,  the  dream  and  the  glory  thereof.  The 
splendid  young  soldier  was  an  elderly,  ruined 
man.  But  one  thing  was  left  :  he  could  be  true 
to    his    flag. 

"A  poor  soldier,  but  enlisted  for  the  war,"  says 
Nelson,  squaring  his  shoulders,  with  a  lump  in  his 
throat  and  his  eyes  brimming.  "  I  know  by  the 
way  it  hurts  me  to  think  of  refusing  her  that  it's 
a  temptation  to  wrong-doing.  No,  I  can't  save 
myself  by  sacrificing  a  brother  soldier  for  hu- 
manity.    She   is   just  as  kind  as  she  can   be,  but 


THE   FACE    OF  FAILURE  8 3 

women   don't   understand   business;   she   wouldn't 
make  allowance  for  Richards." 

He  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  ;  it  was  Martin 
apologizing  for  hurrying  Miss  Brown  ;  but  the 
baby  was   fretting  and 

"  I'm  sorry — yes — well,  I  wish  you  didn't  have 
to  go  !  "  Nelson  began;  but  a  hoarse  treble  rose 
from  under  his  elbows:  "Say,  Mr.  Martin,  Uncle 
and   me  can    take   Miss   Brown  home." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  the  pleasure,"  said  Nel- 
son, with  the  touch  of  courtliness  that  showed 
through   his   homespun   ways. 

"Well,  I  would  like  to  see  the  hundred  bombs 
bursting  at  once  and  Vulcan  at  his  forge  !  "  said 
Miss   Brown. 

Thus  the  matter  arranged  itself.  Tim  waited 
with  the  lady  while  Nelson  went  for  the  horse, 
nor  was  it  until  afterward  that  Miss  Brown 
wondered  why  the  lad  did  not  go  instead  of  the 
man.  But  Tim  had  his  own  reasons.  No  sooncr 
was  Nelson  out  of  earshot  than  he  began  :  "  Say, 
Miss  Brown,    I   can  tell  you   something." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  That  Richards  is  no  good  ;  but  you  can't  get 
Uncle  to  see  it.  At  least  it  will  take  time.  If 
you'll   help   me   we   can    get    him    round   in   time. 


84 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


Won't  you  please  not  sell  us  out  tor  six  months 
and  give  me  a  show?  I'll  see  you  get  your  inter- 
est  and   your  money,   too." 

"You?"  Miss  Brown  involuntarily  took  a 
business  attitude,  with  her  arms  akimbo,  and 
eyed   the   boy. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  me.  I  ain't  so  very  old,  but  I 
know  all  about  the  business.  I  got  all  the  figures 
down — how  much  we  raise  and  what  we  got  last 
year.  I  can  fetch  them  to  you  so  you  can  see. 
He  is  a  good  farmer,  and  he  will  catch  on  to  the 
melons  pretty  quick.  We'll  do  better  next  year, 
and  I'll  try  to  keep  him  from  belonging  to  things 
and  spending  money;  and  if  he  won't  lend  to 
anybody  or  start  in  raising  a  new  kind  of  crop 
just  when  wc  get  the  melons  going,  he  will  make 
money  sure.  Me  is  awful  good  and  honest.  All 
the  trouble  with  him  is  he  needs  somebody  to 
take  care  of  him.  If  Aunt  Lizzie  had  been  alive 
he  never  would  have  lent  that  dead-beat  Richards 
that  money.      He  ought  to  get  married." 

Miss  Brown  did  not  feel  called  on  to  say  any- 
thing. Tim  continued  in  a  judicial  way:  "  He  is 
awful  good  and  kind,  always  gets  up  in  the  morn- 
ing to  make  the  fire  if  I  have  got  something  else 
to  do;  and  he'd  think  everything  his  wife  did  was 


THE   FACE   OF  FAILURE 


8 1 


the  best  in  the  world;  and  if  he  had  somebody 
to  take  care  of  him  he'd  make  money.  I  don't 
suppose  you 
would  think 
of  it?"  This 
last  in  an 
insinuating 
tone,  with 
evident  anx- 
iety. 

"  Well,  I 
never !  "  said 
Miss  Brown. 

Whether 
she  was  more 
offended  or 
amused  she 
couldn't 
tell ;  and  she 
stood  star- 
ing at  him 
by  the   elec- 

"  Well,    I    never!"    said    Miss    Brown. 

trie    light. 

To  her  amazement  the  hard  little  face  began  to 
twitch.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  mad  you,"  Tim 
grunted,  with   a  quiver  in  his  rough  voice.      "  I've 


86 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


been  listening  to  every  word  you  said,  and  I 
thought  you  were  so  sensible  you'd  talk  over 
things  without  nonsense.  Of  course  I  knew  he'd 
have  to  come  and  see  you  Saturday  nights,  and 
take  you  buggy  riding,  and  take  you  to  the  thea- 
tre, and  all  such  things-  first.  But  I  thought  we 
could  sorter  fix  it  up  between  ourselves.  I've 
taken  care  ''I  him  ever  since  Aunt  Lizzie  died, 
and  I  did  my  best  he  shouldn't  lend  that  money. 
but  I  couldn't  help  it  ;  and  I  did  keep  him  from 
marrying  a  widow  woman  with  eight  children, 
who  kept  telling  him  how  much  her  poor 
fatherless  children  needed  a  man  ;  and  I  never 
did  see  anybody  I  was  willing  before — and 
it's — it's  so  lonesome  without  Aunt  Lizzie!" 
He  choked  and  frowned.  Poor  Tim,  who  had 
sold  so  many  melons  to  women  and  seen  so 
much  of  back  doors  and  kitchen  humors  that 
he  held  the  sex  very  cheap,  he  did  not  realize 
how  hard  lie  would  hud  it  to  talk  of  the  one 
woman  who  had  been  kind  to  him!  He 
turned  red  with  shame  over  his  own  weakness. 
"You  poor  little  chap!"  cried  Miss  Brown; 
"you  poor  little  sharp,  innocent  chap!"  The 
hand  she  laid  on  his  shoulder  patted  it  as  she 
went    on  :    "  Newer   mind,    if    I    can't    marry   your 


THE   FACE   OF  FAILURE  $7 

uncle,  I  can  help  you  take  care  of  him. 
You're  a  real  nice  boy,  and  I'm  not  mad  ;  don't 
you  think  it.     There's  your  uncle  now." 

Nelson  found  her  so  gentle  that  he  began  to 
have  qualms  lest  his  carefully  prepared  speech 
should  hurt  her  feelings.  But  there  was  no 
help  for  it  now.  "  I  have  thought  dVer  your 
kind  offer  to  me,  ma'am,"  said  he,  humbly, 
"  and  I  got  a  proposition  to  make  to  you.  It 
is  your  honest  due  to  have  your  farm,  yes, 
ma'am.  Well,  I  know  a  man  would  like  to 
buy  it  ;  I'll  sell  it  to  him,  and  pay  you  your 
money." 

"  But  that   wasn't   my  proposal." 

"  I  know  it,  ma'am.  I  honor  you  for  your 
kindness  ;  but  I  can't  risk  what — what  might  be 
another  person's  idea  of  duty  about  Richards. 
Our  consciences  ain't  all  equally  enlightened, 
you  know." 

Miss  Brown   did  not  answer  a  word. 

They  drove  along  the  streets  where  the 
lanterns  were  fading.  Tim  grew  uneasy,  she 
was  silent  so  long.  On  the  brow  of  the  hill 
she  indicated  a  side  street  and  told  them  to 
stop  the  horse  before  a  little  brown  house. 
One   of  the  windows   was  a   dim   square   of    red. 


88 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


"It    isn't   quite   so   lonesome   coming  home  to 

a  light,"  said   Miss   Brown. 

As  Nelson  cramped  the  wheel  to  jump  out 
to  help  her  from  the  vehicle,  the  light  from 
the  electric  arc  fell  full  on  his  handsome  face 
and  showed  her  the  look  of  compassion  and 
admiration,   there. 

"Wait  one  moment,"  she  said,  detaining  him 
with  one  firm  hand.  "I've  got  something  to 
say  to  you.  Let  Richards  go  for  the  present; 
all  1  ask  of  you  about  him  is  that  you  will  do 
nothing  until  we  can  find  out  if  he  is  so  bad  off. 
But,  Mr.  Forrest,  I  can  do  better  for  noli  about 
that  mortgage.  Mr.  Lossing  will  take  it  for 
three  years  for  a  relative  of  his  and  pay  me  the 
money.      I   told   him   the  story." 

"  And  you   will  get   the   money  all   right  ?  " 

"Just  the  same.  I  was  only  trying  to  help 
you  a  little  by  the  other  way,  and  I  failed. 
Never  mind." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  you  make  me  feel," 
said    Nelson. 

"  Please  let  him  bring"  you  some  melons 
to-morrow  and  make  a  stagger  at  it,  though,  " 
said   Tim. 

"  Can    I  ?  "    Nelson's   eyes    shone. 


THE   FACE    OF    FAILURE  89 

"  If  you  want  to,"  said  Miss  Brown.  She 
laughed  ;  but   in    a   moment    she  smiled. 

All   the   way  home    Nelson   saw   the  same  face 

of   Failure   between    the   old    mare's   white  cars; 

but  its  grim  lineaments  were  softened  by  a 
smile,  a  smile  like    Miss    Brown's. 


TOMMY    AND    THOMAS 

IT  was  while  I  Tan-}-  Lossing  was  at  the  High 
School  that  Mrs.  Carrisvvood  first  saw  Tommy 
Fitzmaurice.  lie  was  not  much  to  see,  a  long  lad 
of  sixteen  who  had  outgrown  his  jackets  and  was 
not  yet  grown   to    his  ears. 

At  this  period  Mrs.  Fitzmaurice  was  his  bar- 
ber, and  she,  having  been  too  rash  with  the 
shears  in  one  place,  had  snipped  off  the  rest 
of  his  curly  black  locks  "to  match;"  until  he 
showed  a  perfect  convict's  poll,  giving  his  ears 
all  the  better  chance,  and  bringing  out  the 
rather  square  contour  of  his  jaws  to  advantage. 
He  had  the  true  Irish-Norman  face;  a  skin 
of  fine  texture,  fair  and  freckled,  high  cheek- 
bones, straight  nose,  and  wide  blue  eyes  that 
looked  to  be  drawn  with  ink,  because  of  their 
sharply  pencilled  brows  and  long,  thick,  black 
lashes.  But  the  feature  that  Mrs.  Carriswood 
noticed     was    Tommy's    mouth,    a     flexible     and 


TOMMY  AND    THOMAS 


01 


At   this   period    Mis.    Fitzmaurice   was    his   barber. 

delicately  cut  mouth,  of  which  the  lips  moved 
lightly  in  speaking  and  seldom  were  quite  in 
repose. 


92 


STOfi/ES    Of     I    WESTERN    TOWN 


•The  genuine    Irish    orator's   mouth,"   thought 
I\l  rs.  Carrisw  ood. 

Tommy,  however,  was  not  a  finished  orator, 
and  Mrs.  Carriswood  herself  deigned  to  help  him 
with  his  graduating  oration;  Tommy  delivering 
the  aforesaid  oration  from  memory,  on  the  stage 
(|l  the  Grand  Opera  House,  to  a  warm-hearted 
and  perspiring  audience  of  his  towns-people,  amid 
tremendous  applause  and  not  the  slightest  prod- 
dings  ol   conscience. 

Really  the  speech  deserved  the  applause  ;  Mrs. 
Carriswood,  who  had  heard  half  the  eloquence  of 
the  world,  spent  three  evenings  on  it;  and  she 
has  a  good    memory. 

Her  part  m  the  affair  always  amused  her; 
though,  in  fact,  it  came  to  pass  easily.  She  had 
the  great  fortune  of  the  family.  Being  a  widow 
with  no  children,  and  the  time  not  being  come 
when  philanthropy  beckons  on  the  right  hand 
and  on  the  left  to  free-handed  women,  Mrs.  Car- 
riswood travelled.  As  she  expressed  it,  she  was 
searching  the  globe  for  a  perfect  climate.  "Not 
that  I  in  the  least  expect  to  find  it,"  said  she, 
cheerfully,  "but  I  like  to  vary  my  disappoint- 
ments; when  I  get  worn  out  hieing  frozen,  win- 
ters, I  !>o  somewhere  to   be  soaked."     She  was  on 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS 


93 


her  way  to  California  this  time,  with  her  English 
maid,  who  gave  the  Lossing  domestics  many  a 
jolly  moment  by  her  inextinguishable  panic  about 
red  Indians.  Mrs.  Deny  supposed  these  savages 
to  be  lurking  on  the  prairie  outside  every  West- 
ern    town  ;     and     almost     fainted    when    she    did 


Three   Kickapoo    Indians,    splendid   in   paint  and  feathers,    peacefully 
vending  the   "Famous   Kickapoo  Sagwa." 


chance  to  turn  the  corner  upon  three  Kickapoo 
Indians,  splendid  in  paint  and  feathers,  and 
peacefully  vending  the  "  Famous  Kickapoo  Sag- 
wa." She  had  others  of  the  artless  notions  of 
the  travelling  English,  and  I  fear  that  they  were 
encouraged  not  only  by  the  cook,  the  "  second 
girl,"  and   the   man-of-all-work,  but  by  Harry  and 


94  STORIES   OF     I    WESTERN    TOWN 


»W 


his  chum,  Tommy;  I  know  she  used  to  tell  h< 
she  saw  tame  buffalo  "  roosting  "  on  the  streets, 
"  w'ich  they  do  look  that  like  common  cows  a 
body  couldn't   tell   'em   hapart  !" 

She  had  a  great  opinion  of  Tommy,  a  mystery 
to  her  mistress  for  a  longtime,  until  one  day  it 
leaked  out  that  Tommy  "and  Master  Hany, 
too,"  had  told  her  that  Tommy's  great-grand- 
father was  a   lord  in    the  old   country. 

"  The  family  seem  to  have  sunk  in  the  world 
since,  Derry,"  was  Mrs.  Carriswood's  single  re- 
mark, . is  she  smiled  to  herself.  After  Deri'}-  was 
dismissed  she  picked  up  a  letter,  written  that  day 
to  a  friend  of  hers,  and  read  some  passages  about 
Harry  and  Tommy,  smiling  again. 

"  Harry  "  — one  ma)'  look  over  her  pretty 
shoulder  without  impertinence,  in  a  story 
"  Harry,"  she  wrote,  '"is  a  boy  that  I  long  to 
steal.  }ust  the  kind  of  bo)'  we  have  both 
wanted,  Sarah — frank,  happy,  affectionate.  I 
must  tell  you  something  about  him.  It  came 
out  by  accident.  lie  has  the  Western  business 
instincts,  and  what  do  you  suppose  he  did.-'  lie 
actually  started  a  wee  shop  of  his  own  in  the 
corner  of  the  yard  (really  it  is  a  surprisingly 
pretty 'place,  and   they  are   quite   civilized  in   the 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  95 

house,  gas,  hot  water,  steam  heat,  all  most  com- 
fortable), and  sold  '  pop  '  and  candy  and  cakes  to 
the  boys.  He  made  so  much  money  that  he  pro- 
posed a  partnership  to  the  cook  and  the  setting 
up  a  little  booth  in  the  'count}-  fair,'  which  is  like 
our  rural  cattle  shows,  you  know.  The  cook  (a 
superior  person  who  borrows  books  from  Mrs. 
Lossing,  but  seems  very  decent  and  respectful 
notwithstanding,  and  broils  game  to  perfection. 
And  such  game  as  we  have  here,  Sarah  !) — well, 
the  cook  made  him  cream-cakes,  sandwiches, 
tarts,  and  candy,  and  Harry  honorably  bought  all 
the  provisions  with  his  profits  from  the  first 
venture.  You  will  open  your  eyes  at  his  father 
permitting  such  a  thing,  but  Henry  Lossing  is  a 
thorough  Westerner  in  some  ways,  and  he  looks 
on  it  all  as  a  joke.  '  Might  show  the  boy  how  to 
do  business,'   he   says. 

"  Well,  they  had  a  ravishing  display,  so  Alma, 
the  cook,  and  William,  the  man,  assured  me— per 
Derry.  All  the  sadder  its  fate  ;  for  alas  !  a  gang 
of  rowdy  boys  fell  upon  Harry,  and  while  he  was 
busy  fighting  half  of  them — he  is  as  plucky  as 
his  uncle,  the  general — the  other  half  looted  the 
beautiful  stock  in  trade  !  They  would  have  de- 
spoiled our  poor  little  merchant  entirely  but  for 


<><>  STORIES   Of    A    WESTERN    TOWN 

the  opportune  arrival  of  a  schoolmate  who  is 
mightily  respected  by  the  rowdies.  He  knocked 
one  ill  them  down  and  shouted  alter  the  others 
thai  he  would  give  every  one  of  them  a  good 
thrashing  if  they  did  not  bring  the  plunder  back  ; 
and  as  he  is  known  to  be  a  lad  of  his  word  for 
good  or  evil,  actually  the  scamps  did  return  most 
nf  the  booty,  which  the  two  boys  brushed  off  and 
sold,  as  far  as  it  went  (!)  The  consequence  ol  the 
fray  has  been  that  Elarry  is  unboundedly  grateful 
to  this  Tommy  Fitzmaurice,  and  is  at  present 
coaching  him  on  his  graduating  oration.  Fitz- 
maurice lias  studied  hard  and  won  honors,  and 
wants  to  make  a  show  with  Ids  oration,  to  please 
his  father.  'You  see,"  saws  Harry.  'Tommy's 
father  has  saved  money  and  is  spending  it  all  on 
Tommy,  so's  he  can  be  educated.  He  needs 
Tommy  in  the  business  real  bad,  but  he  won't 
let  him  come  in  ;  he  keeps  him  at  school,  and  he 
thinks  everything  of  his  getting  the  valedictory, 
and  Tommy,  he  worked  nights  studying  to  get  it.' 
When  I  asked  what  was  the  father's  business, 
Harry  grew  a  bit  confused.  '  Well,  lie  kept  a 
saloon  ;  but  ' — Harry  hastened  to  explain — '  it 
was  a  very  nice  saloon,  never  any  trouble  with  the 
police   there;  why.  Tommy    knew   every   man  on 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  97 

the  force.  And  they  keep  good  liquors,  too,'  said 
Harry,  earnestly;  '  throw  away  all  the  beer  left  in 
the  glasses.'  '  What  else  would  they  do  with  it?' 
asked  innocent  I.  '  Why,  keep  it  in  a  bucket,' 
said  Harry,  solemnly,  'and  then  slip  the  glass 
under  the  counter  and  half  fill  out  of  the  bucket, 
then  hold  it  under  the  keg  low,  so's  the  foam  will 
come  ;  that's  a  trick  of  the  trade,  you  know. 
Tommy  says  his  father  would  scorn  that  !  '  There 
is  a  vista  opened,  isn't  there?  I  was  rather 
shocked  at  such  associates  for  Harry,  and  told 
his  mother.  Did  she  think  it  a  good  idea  to 
have  such  a  boy  coming  to  the  house?  a  saloon- 
keeper's son  ?  She  did  not  laugh,  as  I  half  ex- 
pected, but  answered  quite  seriously  that  she  had 
been  looking  up  Tommy,  that  he  was  very  much 
attached  to  Harry,  and  that  she  did  not  think  he 
would  teach  him  anything  bad.  He  has,  I  find 
myself,  notions  of  honor,  though  they  are  rather 
the  code  of  the  street.  And  he  picks  up  things 
quickly.  Once  he  came  to  tea.  It  was  amusing 
to  see  how  he  glued  his  eyes  on  Harry  and  kept 
time  with  his  motions.  He  used  his  fork  quite 
properly,  only  as  Harry  is  a  left-handed  little 
fellow,  the  right-handed  Thomas  had  the  more 
difficulty. 


98 


STORIES    OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


"  lie  is  taking  such  vast  pains  with  his 'oration 
that  I  felt  moved  to  help  him.  The  subject  is 
'The  Triumph  oi  Democracy,'  and  Tommy  civilly 
explained  that  'democracy'  did  not  mean  the 
Democratic  party,  but  'just  only  a  government 
where  all  the  poor  folks  can  get  their  rights  and 
can  vote.' 

"The  oration  was  the  kind  of  spread-eagle 
thing  you  might  expect;  1  can  see  that  Tommy 
has  formed  himseli  on  the  orators  of  his  lather's 
respectable  saloon.  What  he  said  in  comment 
interested  me  more.  '  Sure,  1  guess  it  is  the  best 
government,  ma'am,  though,  of  course,  I  got  to 
make  it  out  that  way,  anyhow.  But  we  come 
from  Ireland,  and  there  they  got  the  other  kind, 
and  me  granny,  she  starved  in  the  famine  time, 
she  did  that — with  the  fever.  Ale  father  walked 
twenty  mile  to  the  Sackville's  place,  where  they 
gave  him  some  meal,  though  he  wasn't  one  of 
their  tenants;  yes,  and  the  lady  told  him  how  lie 
would  be  cooking  it.  1  never  will  forget  that 
lady!  ' 

"  I  saw  a  dramatic  opportunity:  would  Tommy 
be  willing  to  tell  that  story  in  his  speech?  He 
looked  at  me  with  an  odd  look— or  so  I  imagined 
it!     'Whvnot?'  savs  he  ;   '  I'd  as  soon  as  not  tell 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  99 

it  to  anyone  of  them,  and  why  not  to  them  all 
together?'  Well,  why  not,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it  ?  So  we  have  got  it  into  the  speech  ; 
and  I,  I  myself,  Sarah,  am  drilling  young  Demos- 
thenes, and  he  is  so  apt  a  scholar  that  I  find 
myself  rather  pleasantly  employed."  Having  read 
her  letter,  Mrs.  Carriswood  hesitated  a  second 
and  then  added  Derry's  information  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  page.  "  I  suppose  the  lordly  ancestor 
was  one  of  King  James's  creation — see  Macaulay, 
somewhere  in  the  second  volume.  I  dare  say 
there  is  a  drop  or  two  of  good  blood  in  the  boy. 
He  has  the  manners  of  a  gentleman — but  I  don't 
know  that  I  ever  saw  an  Irishman,  no  matter  how 
low  in  the   social   scale,  who  hadn't." 

Thus  it  happened  that  Tommy's  valedictory 
scored  a  success  that  is  a  tradition  of  the  High 
School,  and  came  to  be  printed  in  both  the  city 
papers;  copies  of  which  journals  Tommy's  mother 
has  preserved  sacredly  to  this  day  ;  and  I  have  no 
doubt,  could  one  find  them,  they  would  be  found 
wrapped  around  a  yellow  photograph  of  the  "  A 
Class  "  of  1870:  eight  pretty  girls  in  white,  smil- 
ing among  five  solemn  boys  in  black,  and  Tommy 
himself,  as  the  valedictorian,  occupying  the  centre 
of  the  picture  in  his  new  suit  of  broadcloth,  with 


IOO 


STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


a  rose  in  his  buttonhole  and  his  hair  cut  by  a  pro- 
fessional  barber  for  the  occasion. 

It  was  the  story  of  the  famine  that  really  capt- 


Tommy's    valedictory. 


ured    the    audience;    and    Tommy    told     it    well, 
with  the  true   Irish  fire,  in  a  beautiful   voice. 

In   the  front  seat   of  the  parquette  a  little  old 
man  in  a  wrinkled    black  broadcloth,  with   a  bald 


TOMMY  AND    THOMAS  IOT 

head  and  a  fringe  of  whisker  under  his  long  chin, 
and  a  meek  little  woman,  in  a  red  Paisley  shawl. 
wept  and  laughed  by  turns.  The)"  had  taken  the 
deepest  interest  in  every  essay  and  every  speech. 
The  old  man  clapped  his  large  hands  (which  were 
encased  in  loose,  black  kid  gloves)  with  unflagging 
vigor.  He  wore  a  pair  of  heavy  boots,  the  soles 
of  which  made  a  noble  thud   on   the  floor. 

"  Ain't  it  wonderful  the  like  of  them  young 
craters  can  talk  like  that!"  he  cried;  "  shure, 
Molh',  that  young  lady  who'd  the  essay — where  is 
it?" — a  huge  black  forefinger  travelled  down  the 
page — "'Music,  The  Turkish  Patrol,"  No — though 
that's  grand,  that  piece;  I'll  be  spakin'  wid  Pro- 
fessor Von  Keinmitz  to  bring  it  when  we've  the 
opening.  Here  'tis,  Moll}':  ' Tin,  Essay.  The 
Darkest  Night  Brings  Out  the  Stars,  Miss  Mamie 
Odenheimer.J  Thrue  for  you,  mavourneen  !  And 
the  sintiments,  wasn't  the}'  illigant  ?  and  the  lan- 
gwidge  was  as  foine  as  Pat  Ronan's  speeches  or 
Father — whist  !  will  ye  look  at  the  flowers  that 
shlip  of  a  gyirl's  gitting !  Count  'em,  will 
ye  ?  " 

"  Fourteen  bouquets  and  wan  basket,"  says  the 
little  woman,  "  and  Mamie  Odenheimer,  she  got 
seventeen   bouquets  and   two  baskets  and  a  sign. 


io: 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


Well,"  she  looked  anxious,  but  smiled,  "  I  know 
of  siven  bouquets  Tommy  will  git  for  sure.  And 
that's  not  countin'  what  Harry  Lossing  will  do 
for  him.     Hiven   bless  the  good   heart   of    him!" 

"Well,  I  kin  count  four  for  him  on  wan  scat," 
says  the  man,  with  a  nod  of  his  head  toward  the 
gay  heap  in  the  woman's  lap,  "  barrin'  I  ain't  on- 
vaygled  into  flinging  some  of  thim  to  the  young 
ladies  !  " 

Harry  Lossing,  in  the  seat  behind  with  his 
mother  and  Mrs.  Carriswood,  giggled  at  this  and 
whispered  in  the  hitter  lady's  ear,  "  That's  Tom- 
my's father  ami  mother.  My,  aren't  they  excited, 
though  !  And  Tommy's  white's  a  sheet — for  fear 
he'll  disappoint  them,  you  know.  He  has  said 
his  piece  over  twice  to  me,  to-day,  he's  so  scared 
lest  he'll  forget.  I've  got  it  in  my  pocket,  and 
I'm  going  behind  when  it's  his  turn,  to  prompt 
him.  Did  you  see  me  winking  at  him  ?  it  sort  of 
cheers   him    up." 

He  was  almost  as  keen  over  the  floral  proces- 
sion as  the  Fitzmaurices  themselves.  The  Loss- 
ing garden  had  been  stripped  to  the  last  bud,  and 
levies  made  on  the  asparagus-bed,  into  the  bar- 
gain, and  Mrs.  Lossing  and  Alma  and  Mrs.  Car- 
riswood and    Derrv  and   Susy  Lossing  had  made 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS 


IO3 


bouquets  and  baskets  and  wreaths,  and  Harry 
had  distributed  them  among  friends  in  different 
parts  of  the  house.  I  say  Harry,  but,  compli- 
mented by  Mrs.  Carriswood,  he  admitted  ingenu- 
ously that  it  was  Tommy's  idea. 

"  Tommy  thought  they  would  make  more  show 
that  way,"  says  Harry,  "  and  they  are  all  on  the 
middle  aisle,  so  his  father  and  mother  can  see 
them  ;  Tim  O'Halloran  lias  got  one  for  him,  too, 
and  Mrs.  Macillarney,  and  she's  got  some  splen- 
did pinies.  Picked  every  last  one.  They'll  make 
a  show  !  " 

But  Harry  knew  nothing  of  the  most  magnifi- 
cent of  his  friend's  trophies  until  it  undulated 
gloriously  down  the  aisle,  above  the  heads  of 
two  men,  white  satin  ribbons  flying,  tinfoil  shin- 
ing— an  enormous  horseshoe  of  roses  and  mig- 
nonette ! 

The  parents  were  both  on  their  feet  to  crane 
their  necks  after  it,  as  it  passed  them  amid  the 
plaudits. 

"  Oh,  it  was  you,  Cousin  Margaret  ;  I  know  it 
was  you,"  cried   Harry. 

He  took  the  ladies  over  to  the  Fitzmaurices 
the  minute  that  the  diplomas  were  given  ;  and, 
directly,  Tommy  joined   them,   attended    by   two 


io4 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


admiring  followers  laden  with  the  trophies.  Mrs. 
O'Halloran  and  Mrs.  Macillarney  and  divers  of 
the  friends,  both  male  and  female,  joined  the 
circle.  Tommy  held  quite  a  little  court.  He 
shook  hands  with  all  the  ladies,  beginning  with 
Mrs.  Carriswood  (who  certainly  never  had  found 
herself  before  in  such  a  company,  jammed  be- 
tween Alderman  McGinnis's  resplendent  new 
tweeds  and  Mrs.  Macillarney 's  calico)  ;  he  affec- 
tionately embraced  his  mother,  and  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  embraced  by  Mrs.  Macillarney  and 
Mrs.  O'Halloran,  while  Patrick  Fitzmaurice  shook 
hands   with   the  alderman. 

"  Here's  the  lady  that  helped  me  on  me  piece, 
father  ;  she's  the  lady  that  sent  me  the  horse- 
shoe, mother.  Like  to  make  you  acquainted  with 
me  father  and  me  mother.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fitz- 
maurice,   Mrs.    Carriswood." 

In  these  words,  Tommy,  blushing  and  happy, 
presented  his   happy  parents. 

"Sure,  I'm  proud  to  meet  you,  ma'am,"  said 
Fitzmaurice,  bowing,  while  his  wife  courtesied 
and   wiped   her  eyes. 

The)'  were  very  grateful,  but  they  were  more 
grateful  for  the  flowers  than  for  the  oratorical 
drilling.       No    doubt     they     thought     that     their 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  105 

Tommy   could    have    done    as   well    in    any   case; 
but  the  splendid   horseshoe   was  another  matter! 

Ten  years  passed  before  Airs.  Carriswood  saw 
her  pupil  again.  During  those  years  the  town 
had  increased  and  prospered  ;  so  had  the  Lossing 
Art  Furniture  Works.  It  was  after  Harry  Lossing 
had  disappointed  his  father.  This  is  not  saying 
that  he  had  done  anything  out  of  the  way  ;  he 
had  simply  declined  to  be  the  fourth  Harry  Loss- 
ing on  the  rolls  of  Harvard  College.  Instead,  he 
proposed  to  enter  the  business  and  to  begin  by 
learning  his  own  trade.  He  was  so  industrious, 
he  kept  at  it  with  such  energy  that  his  first 
convert  was  his  father — no,  I  am  wrong,  Mrs. 
Carriswood  was  the  first  ;  Mrs.  Lossing  was  not 
a  convert,  she  had  believed  in  Harry  from  the 
beginning.  But  all  this  was  years  before  Mrs. 
Carriswood's  visit. 

Another  of  Master  Harry's  notions  was  his 
belief  in  the  necessity  of  his  "  meddling  " — so  his 
father  put  it— in  the  affairs  of  the  town,  the  state, 
and  the  nation,  as  well  as  those  of  the  Lossing 
furniture  company.  But,  though  he  was  pleased 
to  make  rather  cynical  fun  of  his  son's  political 
enthusiasm,  esteeming  it  in  a  sense  a  diverting 
and  therefore  reprehensible  pursuit  for  a  business 


io6 


STORIES   01-    .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


man,  the  elder  Lossing  had  a  sneaking  pride  in  it, 
all  the  same.  lie  liked  to  bring  out  Harry's 
political    shrewdness. 

"  Fancy,  Margaret,"  says  he,  "whom  do  you 
think  Harry  has  brought  over  to  our  side  now? 
The  shrewdest  ward  politician  in  the  town — win-, 
you  saw  him  when  he  was  a  hoy — Tommy  Fitz- 
maurice." 

Then  Mrs.  Carriswood  remembered;  she  asked, 
amused,  how  was  Tommy  and  where  was  he? 

'•Tommy?'  Oh,  he  went  to  the  State  univer- 
sity; the  old  man  was  bound  to  send  him,  and  he 
was  more  dutiful  than  some  sons.  He  was  grad- 
uated with  honors,  and  came  back  to  a  large, 
ready-made  justice  court's  practice.  (  )f  course  he 
drifted  into  criminal  practice  ;  but  he  has  made  a 
fine  income  out  of  that,  and  is  the  shrewdest, 
some  folks  say  the  least  scrupulous,  political 
manager  in  the  count)".  And  so,  Harry,  you 
have  persuaded  him  to  cast  in  his  lot  with  the 
party  of  principle,  have  you  ?  and  he  is  packing 
the  primaries  ?  " 

"  I  see  nothing  dishonest  in  our  trying  to 
get  our  friends  out  to  vote  at  the  primaries, 
sir." 

"  Of   course   not,   but   he    may    not    stop    there. 


TOMMY   AND   THOMAS  107 

However,  I  want  Bailey  elected,  and  I  am  glad  he 

will   work   for   us;   what's   his   price?" 

Harry  blushed  a  little.  "  I  believe  he  would 
like  to  be  city  attorney,  sir,"  said  he;  and  Mr. 
Lossing  laughed. 

"  Would  he  make  a  bad  one  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Car- 
riswood. 

"  He  would  make  the  best  kind  of  a  one," 
replied  Many,  with  youthful  fervor  ;  "  he's  a 
ward  politician  and  all  that,  I  know  ;  but  he  has 
it  in  him  to  be  an  uncommon  deal  more!  And  I 
say,  sir,  do  you  know  that  he  and  the  old  man 
will  take  twenty-five  thousand  of  the  stock  at  par 
if  we  turn   ourselves  into  a  corporation?" 

"  How  about  this  new  license  measure?  won't 
that  bear  a  little  bit  hard  on  the  old  man  ?  " 
This  from  Mr.  Lossing,  who  was  biting  his 
cigar  in   deep  thought. 

"  That  will  not  prevent  his  doing  his  duty  ; 
why,  the  old  man  for  very  pride  will  be  the 
first    to   obey   the   law.     You'll   sec!" 

Six  months  later  they  did  see,  since  it  was 
mostly  due  to  Fitzmaurice's  efforts  that  the 
reform  candidate  was  elected  ;  as  a  consequence, 
Tommy  became  prosecuting  attorney  ;  and,  to 
the    amazement    of     the    critics,    made     the    best 


108  W//-.S    Of    .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


prosecuting    attorney     that     the     city     had     ever 
km  >\vn. 

It  was  during  the  campaign  that  Mrs.  Carris- 
wood  met  him.  Her  goddaughter,  daughter 
el  tlic  friend  to  whom  years  ago  she  described 
rommy,  was  with  her.  This  time  Airs.  Carris- 
wood  had  recenth'  added  Florida  to  her  dis- 
appointments in  climates,  and  was  back,  as  she 
told  Mrs.  Lossing,  "with  a  real  sense  of  relief 
in  a  climate  that  was  too  bad  to  make  any  pre- 
tensions." 

She  had  brought  Miss  \\w\  Harlem  to  see 
tin  shops.  It  ma)' be  that  she  would  not  have 
been  averse  to  Harry  Lossing's  growing  inter- 
ested in  young  Margaret.  She  had  seen  a  great 
deal  ol  Harry  while  he  was  East  at  school,  and 
he  rem. lined  her  first  favorite,  while  Margaret 
was  as  good  as  she  was  pretty,  and  had  half  a 
million  of  dollars  in  her  own  right.  They  had 
seen  Harry,  and  he  was  showing  them  through 
the  different  buildings  or  "  shops,"  when  a  man 
entered  who  greeted  him  cordially,  and  whom 
he  presented  to  Mrs.  Carriswood.  It  was 
Tommy  Fitzmaurice,  grown  into  a  handsome 
young  man.  He  brought  his  heels  together 
and    made    the    ladies    a   solemn    bow.      "  Pleased 


TOMMY  AND    THOMAS  IO9 

to  meet  you,  ladies  ;  how  do  you  like  the 
West  ?  "   said   Tommy. 

I  lis  black  locks  curled  about  his  ears,  which 
seemed  rather  small  now;  he  had  a  good  nose 
and  a  mobile,  clean-shaven  face.  His  hands 
were  very  white  and  soft,  and  the  rim  of  linen 
above  them  was  dazzling.  I  lis  black  frock-coat 
was  buttoned  snugly  about  his  slim  waist.  lie 
brushed  his  face  with  a  tine  silk  handker- 
chief, and  thereby  diffused  the  fragrance  of  the 
best  imported  cologne  among  the  odors  of 
wood  and  turpentine.  A  diamond  pin  sparkled 
from  his  neckscarf.  The  truth  is,  he  knew 
that  the  visitors  were  coming  and  had  made 
a  state  toilet.  "He  looks  half  like  an  actor  and 
half  like  a  clergyman,  and  he  is  all  a  politician," 
thought  Mrs.  Carriswood ;  "  I  don't  think  I 
shall  like  him  any  more."  While  she  thought, 
she  was  inclining  her  slender  neck  toward  him, 
and  the  gentlest  interest  and  pleasure  beamed 
out   of   her   beautiful,   dark   eyes. 

"  We  like  the  West,  but  /  have  liked  it  for 
ten  years  ;  this  is  not  my  first  visit,"  said  Mrs. 
Carriswood. 

"  I  have  reason  to  be  glad  for  that,  madam. 
I    never  made   another  speech   so   good." 


I  IO 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


He  had  remembered  her;  she  laughed.  "I 
had    thought    that    you    would    forget. " 

"How  could  I,  when  you  have  not  changed 
at    all?" 

"But  you  have,"  says  Mrs.  Carriswood, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  show  the  young 
man    his    place   or   not. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  naturally.  But  1  have  not 
learned   how  to   make   a  speech   yet." 

'•Ah,  hut  you  make  very  good  ones,  Harry 
tells    me." 

"Much  obliged,  Harry.  No,  ma'am,  Harry 
i^  a  nice  boy;  but  he  doesn't  know.  I  know 
there  is  .1  lot  to  learn,  and  I  guess  a  lot  to 
unlearn;  ami  I  feel  all  outside;  I  don't  even 
know  how  to  get  at  it.  I  have  wished  a  thou- 
sand times  that  I  could  talk  with  the  lady  who 
taught  me  to  speak  in  the  first  place."  lie- 
walked  on  by  her  side,  talking  eagerly.  "  You 
don't  know  how  main'  times  I  have  felt  I  woidd 
give  most  anything  for  the  opportunity  of  just 
seeing  you  and  talking  with  you  ;  those  things 
you  said  to  me  I  always  remembered."  He 
had  a  hundred  questions  evidently  stinging  his 
tongue.  And  some  of  them  seemed  to  Mrs. 
Carriswood    very   apposite. 


TOMMY   AND    THOMAS  III 

"I'm  on  the  outside  of  such  a  lot  of  things," 
says  he.  "When  I  first  began  to  suspect  that 
I  was  on  the  outside  was  when  I  went  to  the 
High  School,  and  sometimes  I  was  invited  to 
Harry's;  that  was  my  first  acquaintance  with 
cultivated  society.  You  can't  learn  manners 
from  books,  ma'am.  1  learned  them  at  Harry's. 
That  is," — he  colored  and  laughed, — "I  learned 
some.  There's  plenty  left,  I  know.  Then,  I 
went  to  the  University.  Some  of  the  boys  came 
from  homes  like  Harry's,  and  some  of  the  pro- 
fessors there  used  to  ask  us  to  their  houses;  and 
I  saw  engravings  and  oil  paintings,  and  heard 
the  conversation  of  persons  of  culture.  All  this 
only  makes  me  know  enough  to  know  I  am  out- 
side. I  can  see  the  same  thing  with  the  lawyers, 
too.  There  is  a  set  of  them  that  are  after 
another  kind  of  things;  that  think  themselves 
above  me  and  my  sort  of  fellows.  You  know  all 
the  talk  about  this  being  a  free  and  equal  coun- 
try. That's  the  tallest  kind  of  humbug,  madam  ! 
It  is  that.  There  are  sets,  one  above  another, 
eveiywhere  ;  big  bugs  and  little  bugs,  if  you  will 
excuse  the  expression.  And  you  can't  influence 
the  big  ones  without  knowing  how  they  feel.  A 
fellow  can't  be  poking  in  the  dark  in  a  speech  or 


112  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

anywhere  else.  Now,  these  fellows  here,  they  go 
into  politics,  sometimes;  and  there,  I  tell  you,  we 
come  the  nearest  to  a  fair  field  and  no  favor!  It 
is  the  best  fellow  gets  the  prize  there — the  sharp- 
est-witted,  the  nerviest,  and  stanchest.  Oh,  talk 
of  machine  politics !  all  the  soft  chaps  who  ain't 
willing  to  get  up  earl}-  in  the  morning,  or  to  go 
out  in  the  wet,  they  howl  about  the  primaries  and 
corruption;  let  them  get  up  and  clean  the  pri- 
maries instead  of  holding  their  noses!  Those 
fellows,  I'm  not  nice  enough  for  them,  but  I  can 
beat  them  every  time.  They  make  a  monstrous 
racket  in  the  newspapers,  but  when  election 
conies  on  they  can't  touch  side,  edge,  or  bot- 
tom !  " 

Discoursing  in  this  fashion,  with  digressions  to 
Harry  in  regard  to  the  machines,  the  furniture, 
and  the  sales,  that  showed  Mrs.  Carriswood  that 
he  meant  to  keep  an  eye  on  his  twenty  odd 
thousand  dollars,  he  strolled  at  her  side.  To 
Miss  Van  Harlem  he  scarcely  said  three  words. 
In  fact,  he  said  exactly  three  words,  uttered  as 
Miss  Margaret's- silken  skirts  swung  too  near  a  pot 
of  varnish.  They  were  "  Look  out,  miss  !  "  and 
at  the  same  second,  Tommy  (who  was  in  advance, 
with  really  no  call  to  know  of  the  danger),  turned 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  Hj 

on  his  heel  and  whisked  the  skirts  away,  turning 
back  to  pick  up  the  sentence  he  had   dropped. 

Tommy  told  Harry  that  Miss  Van  Harlem  was 
a  very  handsome  lady,  but  haughty-looking. 
Then  he  talked  for  half  an  hour  about  the  clever- 
ness of  Mrs.  Carriswood. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  Tommy  will  rise." 
(Mrs.  Carriswood  was  describing  the  interview  to 
her  cousin,  the  next  day.)  "  What  do  you  think 
he  said  to  me  last  of  all?  '  How,'  said  he,  '  does 
a  man,  a  gentleman ' — it  had  a  touch  of  the 
pathetic,  don't  you  know,  the  little  hesitation  he 
made  on  the  word — '  how  does  he  show  his  grati- 
tude to  a  lady  who  has  done  him  a  great  ser- 
vice?' 'Young  or  old?'  I  said.  'Oh,  a  married 
lady,'  he  said,  '  very  much  admired,  who  has  been 
everywhere.'  Wasn't  that  clever  of  him  ?  I  told 
him  that  a  man  usually  sent  a  few  flowers.  You 
saw  the  basket  to-day — evidently  regardless  of 
expense.  And  fancy,  there  was  a  card,  a  card 
with  a  gilt  edge  and  his  name  written   on   it." 

"  The  card  was  his  mother's.  She  has  visiting 
cards,  now,  and  pays  visits  once  a  year  in  a  livery 
carriage.  Poor  Mrs.  Fitzmaurice,  she  is  always  so 
scared  ;  and  she  is  such  a  good  soul  !  Tommy  is 
very  good  to  her." 


ii4 


STORIES   OF  A    IFESTERA     TOWN 


"How    about    the  father?     Does   he    still   keep 
that   '  nice  '  salt >on  ?  " 

"Yes;  but   he  talks  of  retiring.     They  are  not 


"Sin-   lia'j    v       •  i  noi'.     and   (jay o   visits   once   .1   \e.tr." 

poor  at  .ill.  and  Tommy  is  their  only  child  ;  the 
others  died.  It  is  hard  on  the  old  man  to  re- 
tire, for  he  isn't  so  very  old  in  fact,  but  if  he 
once   is  convinced   that    his   calling   stands  in   the 


TOMMY  AND    THOMAS  I  15 

way  of  Tommy's  career,  he  won't  hesitate  a 
second." 

"Poor  people,"  said  Mrs.  Carriswood ;  "do 
you  know,  Grace,  I  can  see  Tommy's  future;  he- 
will  grow  to  be  a  boss,  a  political  boss.  He  will 
become  rich  by  keeping  your  streets  always  being 
cleaned — which  means  never  clean — and  giving 
you  the  worst  fire  department  and  police  to  be 
obtained  for  money;  and,  by  and  by,  a  grateful 
machine  will  make  him  mayor,  or  send  him  to  the 
Legislature,  very  likely  to  Congress,  where  he  will 
misrepresent  the  honest  State  of  Iowa.  Then  he 
will  bloom  out  in  a  social  way,  and  many  a  gen- 
tlewoman, and  they  will  snub  the  old  people  who 
are  so  proud  of  him." 

"Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  Mrs.  Lossing;  "I 
think  better  things  of  Tommy.     So  does  Harry." 

Part  of  the  prophecy  was  to  be  speedily  ful- 
filled. Two  years  later,  the  Honorable  Thomas 
Fitzmaurice  was  elected  mayor  of  his  city, 
elected  by  the  reform  part)',  on  account  of  his 
eminent  services — and  because  he  was  the  only 
man  in  sight  who  had  the  ghost  of  a  chance  of 
winning.  Harry's  version  was:  "Tommy  jests  at 
his  new  principles,  but  that  is  simply  because  he 
doesn't    comprehend    what    the)'  are.      He   laughs 


i  1 6 


STORIES   OF   ,1    WESTERN    T01VX 


at  reform  in  the  abstract;  but  every  concrete, 
practical  reform  he  is  as  anxious  as  I  or  anybody 
to  bring  about.  And  he  will  get  them  here, 
too. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word;  he  gave  the  city 
an  admirable  administration,  with  neither  fear  nor 
favor.  Some  of  the  "  boys"  still  clung  to  him; 
these,  according  to  Harry,  were  the  better 
"  boys,"  who  had  the  seeds  of  good  in  them  and 
oid\-  needed  opportunity  and  a  leader.  Tommy 
did  not  Hag  in  zeal;  rather,  as  the  time  went  on 
and  he  soared  out  of  the  criminal  courts  into  big 
civil  cases  involving  property,  he  grew  up  to  the 
level  of  his  admirers'  praises.  "  Tommy,"  wrote 
Mr.  Lossing,  presently,  "is  beginning"  to  take 
himself  seriously,  lie  has  been  told  so  often 
that  he  is  a  young  lion  of  reform,  that  he  be- 
gins to  study  the  role  in  dead  earnest.  1  don't 
talk  this  way  to  Harry,  who  believes  in  him  and 
is  training  him  for  the  representative  for  our  dis- 
trict. What  harm?  Verily,  his  is  the  faith  that 
will  move  mountains,  besides,  Tommy  is  now- 
rich  ;  he  mu^t  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  which  makes  a  man  of  wealth  in  these 
parts.      It  is  time   for  him   to   be   respectable." 

Notwithstanding  this  preparation,  Airs.   Carris- 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  W] 

wood  (then  giving  Washington  the  benefit  of 
her  doubts  of  climate)  was  surprised  one  day  to 
receive  a  perfectly  correct  visiting  card  whereon 
was  engraved,  "  Mr.  Thomas  Sackville  Fitzmau- 
rice,  M.C." 

The  young  lady  who  was  with  her  lifted  her 
brilliant  hazel  eyes  and  half  smiled.  "  Is  it  the 
droll  young  man  we  met  once  at  Mrs.  Lossing's? 
Pray  see  him,  Aunt  Margaret,"  said  Miss  Van 
Harlem. 

Mrs.  Carriswood  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
ordered  the  man  to  show  him   up. 

There  entered,  in  the  wake  of  the  butler,  a  dis- 
tinguished-looking personage  who  held  out  his 
hand  with  a  perfect  copy  of  the  bow  that  she  saw 
forty  times  a  day.  "  He  is  taking  himself  very 
seriously,"  she  sighed  ;  "  he  is  precisely  like  any- 
body else !  "  And  she  felt  her  interest  snuffed 
out  by  Tommy's  correctness.  But,  directly,  she 
changed  her  mind ;  the  unfailing  charm  of  his 
race  asserted  itself  in  Tommy;  she  decided  that 
he  was  a  delightful,  original  young  man,  and  in 
ten  minutes  they  were  talking  in  the  same  odd 
confidence  that  had  always  marked  their  relation. 

"  How  perfectly  you  are  gotten  up  !  Are  you 
inside,  now?  " 


I  IS 


STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


"Ali,  do  you  remember  that?"  said  he; 
"  that's  awfully  good  of  you.  Which  is  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  please  you,  my  clothes  or  my  deport- 
ment ?  " 

"  Both,  They  are  very  good.  \\  here  did  .you 
get  them,  Tommy?  I  shall  take  the  privilege  of 
my  age  and   call   you   Tommy." 

"Thank  you.  The  clothes?  Oh,  I  asked  Har- 
ry for  the  proper  thing,  and  he  recommended  a 
tailor.       I    think    Harry    gave     me     the   manners, 

ti  M  i." 

"And  your  new  principles?"  She  could  not 
resist   this  little   fling. 

"  I  owe  a  great  deal  in  that  way  to  Harry, 
also,"  answered  he,  with   gravity. 

Gone  were  the  days  of  sarcastic  ridicule,  of 
visionary  politics.  Tommy  talked  of  the  civil 
service  in  the  tone  of  Harry  himself.  He  was 
actually  eloquent. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Margaret,  he  is  a  remarkable 
young  man,"  exclaimed  Miss  Van  Harlem;  "his 
honest}'  and  enthusiasm  are  refreshing  in  this 
pessimist  place.  I  hope  he  will  come  again. 
Did  you   notice  what   lovely  eyes  he  has  ?  " 

Before  long  it  was  not  pure  good-nature  that 
caused  Mrs.  Carriswood  to  ask  Fitzmaurice  to  her 


TOMMY  AXD   THOMAS  121 

house.  He  was  known  as  a  rising  young  man. 
One  met  him  at  the  best  houses;  yet  he  was  a 
prodigious  worker,  and  had  made  his  mark  in 
committees,  before  the  celebrated  speech  that 
sent  him  into  all  the  newspaper  columns,  or  that 
stubborn  and  infinitely  versatile  fight  against 
odds  which  inspired   the  artist  of  Puck. 

Tommy  bore  the  cartoon  to  Mrs.  Carriswood, 
beaming.  She  had  not  seen  that  light  in  his  face 
since  the  memorable  June  afternoon  in  the  Opera- 
house.  He  sent  the  paper  to  his  mother,  who 
vowed  the  picture  "  did  not  favor  Tommy  at  all, 
at  all.  Sure  Tommy  never  had  such  a  red  nose  !  " 
The  old  man,  however,  went  to  his  ex-saloon,  and 
sat  in  state  all  the  morning,  showing  Tommy's 
funny  picture. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Mrs.  Carriswood 
observed  something  that  took  her  breath  away  : 
Tommy  Fitzmaurice  had  the  presumption  to  be 
attentive  to  my  lady's  goddaughter,  Miss  Van 
Harlem.  Nor  was  this  the  worst  ;  there  were 
indications  that  Miss  Van  Harlem,  who  had  re- 
fused the  noble  names  and  titles  of  two  or  three 
continental  nobles,  and  the  noble  name  unaccom- 
panied by  a  title  of  the  younger  son  of  an  English 
earl,  without   mentioning  the   half-dozen  "  nice  " 


I  °2 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


American  claimants — Miss  Van  Harlem  was  not 
angry. 

The  day  this  staggering  blow  fell  on  her,  Mrs. 
Carriswood  was  in  her  dressing-room,  peacefully 
watching  Derry  unpack  a  box  from  Paris,  in 
anticipation  of  a  state  dinner.  And  Miss  Van 
Harlem,  in  a  bewitching  wrapper,  sat  on  the 
lounge  and  admired.  Upon  this  scene  of  feminine 
peace  and  happiness  enter  the  Destroyer,  in  the 
shape  of  a  note  from  Tommy  Fitzmaurice  !  Were 
tlie}'  going  on  Beatoun's  little  excursion  to  Alex- 
andria? If  the\'  were,  he  would  move  heaven 
and  earth  to  put  off  a  committee  meeting,  in 
order  to  join  them.  By  the  way,  he  was  to  get 
the  floor  for  his  speech  that  afternoon.  Wouldn't 
Mrs.  Carriswood  come  to  inspire  him?  Perhaps 
Miss  Van  Harlem  would  not  be  bored  by  a  little 
of   it. 

It  was  a  well-worded  note;  as  Mrs.  Carriswood 
read  it  she  realized  for  the  first  time  how  com- 
pletely Tommy  was  acclimated  in  society.  She 
remembered  his  plaint  years  ago,  and  his  awe  of 
"oil  paintings"  and  "people  of  culture;"  and 
she  laughed  half-sadly  as  she  passed  the  note  over 
to  Miss  Van   I  larlem. 

"  I  presume  it  is  the  Alexandria   excursion  that 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  I  23 

the  Beatouns  were  talking  about  yesterday,"  she 
said,  languidly.  "  He  wants  to  show  that  young 
Irishman  that  we  have  a  mild  flavor  of  antiquity, 
ourselves.  We  are  to  see  Alexandria  and  have  a 
real  old  Virginian  dinner,  including  one  of  the 
famous  Beatoun  hams  and  some  of  the  '69  Cha- 
teau Yquem  and  the  sacred  '47  port.  I  suppose 
he  will  have  the  four-in-hand  buckboard.  '  A 
small  party  ' — that  will  mean  the  Honorable  Basil 
Sackville,  Mrs.  Beatoun,  Lilly  Denning,  probably 
one  of  the  Cabinet  girls,  Colonel  Turner,  and  that 
young  Russian  Beatoun  is  so  fond  of,  Tommy 
Fitzmaurice " 

"  Why  do  you  always  call  Mr.  Fitzmaurice 
Tommy  ?  " — this  interruption  comes  with  a  slight 
rise  of  color  from  young  Margaret. 

"  Everybody  calls  him  Tommy  in  his  own 
town  ;  a  politician  as  popular  as  he  with  the 
boys  is  naturally  Tommy  or  Jerry  or  Bill)'. 
They  slap  him  on  the  back  or  sit  with  an  arm 
around  his  neck  and  concoct  the  ways  to  rule 
us." 

"  I  don't  think  anyone  slaps  Mr.  Fitzmaurice 
on  the  back  and  calls  him  Tommy,  now"  says 
Margaret,  with  a  little  access  of  dignity. 

"  I    dare    say   his   poor  old   father   and   mother 


124 


STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


don't    venture   on   that    liberty;  I  wish   you   had 

seen   them — 

"  lie  has  told  me  about  them,"  says   Margaret. 

And  Mrs.  Carriswood's  dismay  was  such  that 
for  a  second  she  simply  gasped.  Were  tilings 
so  far  along  that  such  confessions  were  made? 
Tommy  must  be  very  confident  to  venture;  il 
was  shrewd,  very  shrewd,  to  forestall  Mrs.  Car- 
riswood's sure  revelations — oh,  Tommy  was  not 
a  p< ilitician   for  nothing  ! 

"  Besides,"  Margaret  went  on,  with  the  same 
note  of  repressed  feeling  in  her  voice,  "  his  is  a 
good  family,  if  they  have  decayed;  his  ancestor 
was   Lord  Fitzmaurice   in    King  James's  time." 

"  She  takes  him  seriously  too  !  "  thought  Mrs. 
Carriswood,  with  inexpressible  consternation  ; 
"what  shall  I   say  to  her  mother?" 

Strange  to  say,  perhaps,  considering  that  she 
was  so  frankly  a  woman  of  the  world,  her  stub- 
bornest  objection  to  Tommy  was  not  an  objection 
of  expediency.  She  had  insensibly  grown  to  take 
his  success  for  granted,  like  the  rest  of  the  Wash- 
ington world  ;  he  would  be  a  governor,  a  senator, 
he  might  be — anything  !  And  he  was  perfectly 
presentable,  now  ;  no,  it  would  be  on  the  whole 
an   investment  in  the  future  that  would  pay  well 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  1 25 

enough  ;  his  parents  would  be  awkward,  but  they 
were  old  people,  not  likely  to  be  too  much  en 
Evidence. 

Mrs.  Carriswood,  while  not  overjoyed,  would 
not  feel  crushed  by  such  a  match,  but  she  did 
view  what  she  regarded  as  Tommy's  moral  insta- 
bility, with  a  dubious  and  fearful  eye.  He  was 
earnest  enough  for  his  new  principles  now  ;  but 
what  warrant  was  there  of  his  sincerity  ?  Marga- 
ret and  her  mother  were  high-minded  women.  It 
was  the  gallant  knight  of  her  party  and  her  politi- 
cal faith  that  the  girl  admired,  the  valiant  fight, 
not  the  triumph!  No  mere  soldier  of  fortune,  no 
matter  how  successful  or  how  brilliant,  could  win 
her  ;  if  Tommy  were  the  mercenary,  not  the 
knight,  no  worldly  glory  could  compensate  his 
wife. 

Wherefore,  after  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour 
reflecting  on  these  things,  Mrs.  Carriswood  went 
to  the  Capitol,  resolved  to  take  her  goddaughter 
away.  She  would  not  withdraw  her  acceptance 
of  the  Beatouns'  invitation,  no  ;  let  the  Iowa 
congressman  have  every  opportunity  to  display 
his  social  shortcomings  in  contrast  with  the  ac- 
complished Russian,  and  Jack  Turner,  the  most 
elegant  man  in  the  army  ;  the  next  day  Would  be 


126 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


time  enough  for  a  telegram  and  a  sudden  Hitting. 
Yet  in  the  midst  of  her  plans  for  Tommy's  dis- 
comfiture she  was  assailed  by  a  queer  regret  and 
reluctance.  Tommy's  fascination  had  affected 
even  a  professional  critic  of  life;  he  had  been  so 
amusing,  so  willing,  so  trusting,  so  useful,  that 
her  chill  interest  had  wanned  into  liking.  She- 
felt  a  moving  of  the  heart  as  the  handsome  black 
head  arose,  and  the  first  notes  of  that  resonant, 
thrilling  voice  swelled  above  the  din  on  the  floor. 

It  was  the  day  of  his  great  speech,  the  speech 
that   made   him,  it    was   said. 

As  Mrs.  Carriswood  sank  back,  turning  a  little 
in  an  instinctive  effort  to  repulse  her  own  sym- 
pathy, she  was  aware  of  the  presence  near  her  of 
an  elderly  man  and  woman.  The  old  man  wore  a 
shining  silk  hat  and  shining  new  black  clothes. 
1 1  is  expansive  shirt-bosom  was  very  white,  but 
not  glossy,  and  rumpled  in  places  ;  and  his  collar 
was  of  the  spiked  and  antique  pattern  known  as 
a  '*  dickey."  Mis  wrinkled,  red  face  was  edged 
by  a  white  fringe  of  whisker.  He  wore  large 
gold-bowed  spectacles,  and  his  jaws  worked  in- 
cessantly. 

The  woman  was  a  little,  mild,  wrinkled  creat- 
ure,  with   an   anxious   blue    eye  and    snowy   hair, 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  I?7 

smoothed  clown  over  her  ears,  under  her  fine 
bonnet.  She  was  richly  dressed,  but  her  silks 
and  velvets  ill  suited  the  season.  Had  she  seen 
them  anywhere  else,  Mrs.  Carriswood  might  not 
have  recognized  them  ;  but  there,  with  Tommy 
before  them,  both  of  them  feverishly  absorbed  in 
Tommy,  she  recognized  them  at  a  glance.  She 
had  a  twinge  of  pity,  watching  the  old  faces  pale 
and  kindle.  With  the  first  rustle  of  applause, 
she  saw  the  old  father  slip  his  hand  into  the  old 
mother's.  They  sat  well  behind  a  pillar ;  and 
however  excited  they  became,  the}-  never  so  lost 
themselves  as  to  lean  in  front  of  their  shield. 
This,  also,  she  noticed.  The  speech  over,  the 
woman  wiped  her  eyes.  The  old  man  joined  in 
the  tumult  of  applause  that  swept  over  the  gal- 
leries, but  the  old  woman  pulled  his  arm,  evi- 
dently feeling  that  it  was  not  decent  for  them  to 
applaud.  She  sat  rigid,  with  red  cheeks  and  her 
eyes  brimming ;  he  was  swaying  and  clapping  and 
laughing  in  a  roar  of  delight.  But  it  was  he  that 
drew  her  away,  finally,  while  she  fain  would  have 
lingered  to  look  at  Tommy  receiving  congratula- 
tions below. 

"  Poor   things,"    said    Mrs.  Carriswood,    "  I    do 
believe  they  haven't   let  him  know  that  the)'  are 


128 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


here."  And  she  remembered  how  she  had  pitied 
them  for  this  v*  ry  possibility  of  humiliation  years 
before.  But  she  did  not  pursue  the  adventure, 
and  some  obscure  motive  prevented  her  speaking 
of  it   to   Miss  Van   1  larlem. 

Did  Tommy's  parents  tell  Tommy?  If  they 
did.  Tommy  made  no  sign.  The  morning  found 
him  with  the  others,  in  a  beautiful  white  flannel 
suit,  with  a  silk  shirt  and  a  red  silk  sash,  looking 
handsomer  than  any  man  of  the  party.  lie  took 
the  congratulations  of  the  company  modestly. 
Either  he  was  not  much  puffed  up,  or  he  had  the 
art   of  concealment. 

They  saw  Alexandria  in  a  conscientious  fash- 
ion, for  the  benefit  of  the  guest  of  the  day.  He 
was  a  modest  young  fellow  with  a  nose  rather  too 
large  for  his  face,  a  long  upper  lip,  and  frank  blue 
eyes.  lie  made  himself  agreeable  to  one  of  the 
Cabinet  girls,  on  the  front  seat,  while  Tommy, 
just  behind  him,  had  Miss  Van  Harlem  and  bliss 
for  his  portion. 

The  old  streets,  the  toppling  roofs,  the  musty 
warehouses,  the  uneven  pavement,  all  pleased  the 
young  creatures  out  in  the  sunshine.  The)-  made 
merry  over  the  ancient  ball-room,  where  Washing- 
ton had  asked  a  far-away  ancestress  of  Beatoun  to 


TOMMY  AND    THOMAS  1-9 

dance  ;  and  they  decorously  walked  through  the 
old  church. 

It  happened  in  the  church.  Mrs.  Carriswood 
was  behind  the  others;  so  she  saw  them  come  in, 
the  same  little  old  couple  of  the  Capitol. 

In  the  chancel,  Beatoun  was  explaining ;  be- 
side Beatoun  shone  a  curly  black  head  that  they 
knew. 

Mrs.  Carriswood  sat  in  one  of  the  high  old 
pews.  Through  a  crack  she  could  look  into  the 
next  pew  ;  and  there  they  stood.  She  heard  the 
old  man  :  "  Whist,  Molly,  let's  be  getting  out  of 
this  !  He  is  here  with  all  his  grand  friends. 
Don't   let   us  be  interrupting  him." 

The  old  woman's  voice  was  so  like  Tommy's 
that  it  made  Mrs.  Carriswood  start.  Very  softly 
she  spoke  :  "  I  only  want  to  look  at  him  a  min- 
ute, Pat,  jest  a  minute.  I  ain't  seen  him  for  so 
long." 

"  And  is  it  any  longer  for  you  than  for  me  ?  " 
retorted  the  husband.  "  Ye  know  what  ye  prom- 
ised if  I'd  be  taking  you  here,  unbeknownst. 
Don't  look  his  way  !  Look  like  ye  was  a  stranger 
to  him.  Don't  let  us  be  mortifying  him  wid  our 
country  ways.  Like  as  not  'tis  the  prisidint, 
himself,  he  is  colloguein'  wid,  this  blessed  min- 
9 


no 


STORIES  (>/■    A    WESTERN    TOWN 


utc.  Shtep  back  and  be  a  stranger  to  him, 
woman  !  " 

A  stranger  to  him,  his  own  mother!  But  she 
stepped  back  ;  she  turned  her  patient  face.  Then 
— Tommy  saw  her. 

A  wave  of  red  flushed  all  over  his  face.  He 
took  two  steps  down  the  aisle,  and  caught  the 
little   figure   in   his  arms. 

"Why,  mother?"  he  cried,  "why,  mother, 
where  did  you   drop   from?" 

.And  before  Airs.  Carriswood  could  speak  she 
saw  him  step  back  and  push  young  Sackville  for- 
ward, crying,  "  This  is  my  father,  this  is  the  boy 
that  knew  your  grandmother." 

He  did  it  so  easily  ;  he  was  so  entirely  unaf- 
fected, so  perfectly  unconscious,  that  there  was 
nothing  at  all  embarrassing  for  anyone.  Even  the 
Cabinet  girl,  with  a  grandmother  in  very  humble 
life,  who  must  be  kept  in  the  background,  could 
not   feel   disconcerted. 

For  this  happy  result  Mrs.  Carriswood  owns  a 
share  of  the  credit.  She  advanced  on  the  first 
pause,  and  claimed  acquaintanceship  with  the 
Fitzmaurices.  The  story  of  their  last  meeting 
and  Tommy's  first  triumph  in  oratory  came,  of 
course  ;  the  famous  horseshoe  received  due  men- 


TOMMY  AND   THOMAS  I  3  I 

tion ;  and  Tommy  described  with  much  humor 
his  terror  of  the  stage.  From  the  speech  to  its 
most  effective  passage  was  a  natural  transition  ; 
equally  natural  the  transition  to  Tommy's  grand- 
mother, the  Irish  famine,  and  the  benevolence  of 
Lady  Sackville. 

Everybody  was  interested,  and  it  was  Sackville 
himself,  who  brought  the  Fitzmaurices'  noble  an- 
cestors, the  apocryphal  Viscounts  Fitzmaurice  of 
King  James's  creation,  on  to  the  carpet. 

He  was  entirely  serious.  "  My  grandmother 
told  me  of  your  great-grandfather,  Lord  Fitzmau- 
rice ;  she  saw  him  ride  to  hounds  once,  when  she 
was  a  little  girl.  They  say  he  was  the  boldest 
rider  in  Ireland,  and  a  renowned  duellist  too. 
King  James  gave  the  title  to  his  grandfather, 
didn't  he?  and  the  countryside  kept  it,  if  it  was 
given  rather  too  late  in  the  day  to  be  useful.  I 
am  glad  you  have  restored  the  family  fortunes, 
Mr.   Fitzmaurice." 

The  Cabinet  girl  looked  on  Tommy  with  re- 
spect, and  Miss  Van  Harlem  blushed  like  an 
angel. 

"All  is  lost,"  said  Mrs.  Carriswood  to  herself; 
yet  she  smiled.  Going  home,  she  found  a  word 
for  Tommy's  ear.     The  old  Virginian   dinner  had 


I  }2 


STORIES  OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


been  most  successful.  The  Fitzmaurices  (who 
had  been  almost  forced  into  the  banquet  by  Bea- 
toun's  imperious  hospitality)  were  not  a  wet  blan- 
ket in  the  least.  Patrick  Fitzmaurice,  brogue  and 
all,  was  an  Irish  gentleman  without  a  flaw.  He 
blossomed  out  into  a  modest  wag;  and  told  two 
or  three  comic  stories  as  acceptably  as  he  was 
used  to  tell  them  to  a  very  different  circle — only, 
carrying  a  fresher  flavor  of  wit  to  this  circle,  per- 
haps, it  enjoyed  them  more.  Mrs.  Fitzmaurice 
looked  scared  and  ate  almost  nothing,  with  the 
greatest  propriety,  and  her  fork-  in  her  left  hand. 
Yet  even  she  thawed  under  Miss  Van  Harlem's 
attentions  and  gentle  Mrs.  Beatoun's  tact,  and 
the  winning  ways  of  the  last  Beatoun  baby.  She 
took  this  absent  cherub  to  her  heart  with  such 
undissembled  warmth  that  its  mother  ever  since 
has  called  her  "  a  sweet,  funny  little  old   lady." 

They  were  both  (Patrick  and  his  wife)  quite 
unassuming  and  retiring,  and  no  urging  could  dis- 
suade them  from  parting  with  the  company  at  the 
tavern  door. 

"  My  word.  Tommy,  your  mother  and  I  can  git 
home  by  ourselves,"  whispered  honest  Patrick  ; 
"  we've  not  exceeded — if  the  wines  were  good.  I 
never  exceeded  in  my  life,  God  take  the  glory  !" 


TOMMY  AXD   THOMAS  I  33 

But  he  embraced  Tommy  so  affectionately  in 
parting  that  I  confess  Mrs.  Carriswood  had  sus- 
picions. Yet,  surely,  it  is  more  likely  that  his 
brain  was — -let  us  not  say  turned,  but  just  a  wee 
bit  tilted,  by  the  joy  and  triumph  of  the  occasion 
rather  than  by  Beatoun's  port  or  champagne. 

But  Mrs.  Carriswood's  word  had  nothing  to 
do  with  Tommy's  parents,  ostensibly,  though,  in 
truth,  it  had  everything  to  do.  She  said  :  "  Will 
you  dine  with  us  to-morrow,  quite  en  famille, 
Thomas  ?  " 

"  I  ought  to  tell  you,  I  suppose,  that  I  find 
your  house  a  pretty  dangerous  paradise,  Mrs. 
Carriswood,"  says  Tommy. 

"  And  I  find  you  a  most  dangerous  angel, 
Thomas;  but — you  see   I  ask  you!" 

"  Thank  you,"  answers  Tommy,  in  a  different 
tone;  "you've  always  been  an  angel  to  me. 
What  I  owe  to  you  and  Harry  Lossing — well,  I 
can't  talk  about  it.  But  see  here,  Mrs.  Carris- 
wood, you  always  have  called  me  Tommy ;  now 
you  say  Thomas;   why  this  state?" 

"  I  think  you  have  won  your  brevet,  Thomas." 

He  looked  puzzled,  and  she  liked  him  the 
better  that  he  should  not  make  enough  of  his 
conduct    to    understand    her ;    but,    though    she 


'34 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


has  called  him  Tommy  often  since,  lie  keeps 
the  brevet  in  her  thoughts.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Carris- 
wood  is  beginning  to  take  the  Honorable  Thomas 
Fitzmauricc  and  his  place  in  the  world  seriously, 
herself. 


MOTHER    EMERITUS 

THE  Loaders  lived  on  the  second  floor,  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  in  the  Lossing  Building. 
There  is  a  restaurant  to  the  right  ;  and  a  new 
doctor,  every  six  months,  who  is  every  kind  of  a 
healer  except  "  regular,"  keeps  the  permanent 
boarders  in  gossip,  to  the  left ;  two  or  three 
dressmakers,  a  dentist,  and  a  diamond  merchant 
up-stairs,  one  flight ;  and  half  a  dozen  families 
and  a  dozen  single  tenants  higher — so  you  see 
the  Louders  had  plenty  of  neighbors.  In  fact, 
the  multitude  of  the  neighbors  is  one  cause  of 
my  story. 

Tilly  Louder  came  home  from  the  Lossing 
factory  (where  she  is  a  typewriter)  one  February 
afternoon.  As  she  turned  the  corner,  she  was 
face  to  the  river,  which  is  not  so  full  of  shipping 
in  winter  that  one  cannot  see  the  steel-blue  glint 
of  the  water.  Back  of  her  the  brick  paved  street 
climbed  the  hill,  under  a  shapeless  arch  of  trees. 
The   remorseless   pencil   of  a   railway   has   drawn 


136 


STORIES  OF  A    Jl'ESTERX    TOll'X 


black  lines  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  ;  and,  all  day 
ami  all  night,  slender  red  bars  rise  and  sink  in 
their  black  sockets,!.)  the  accompaniment  of  the 
outer)-  of  tortured  steam.  All  day,  if  not  all 
night,  the  crooked  pole  slips  up  and  down  the 
trolley  wire,  as  the  yellow  cars  rattle,  and  Hash, 
and  clang  a  spiteful  little  bell,  that  sounds  like  a 
soprano  bark",  over  the  crossings. 

It  is  customary  in  the  Lossing  Building  to  say, 
"  We  are  so  handy  to  the  cars."  The  street  is  a 
handsome  street,  not  free  from  dingy  old  brick 
boxes  of  stores  below  the  railway,  but  fast  replac- 
ing them  with  fairer  structures.  The  Lossing 
Building  has  the  wide  arches,  the  recessed  doors, 
the  balconies  and  the  colonnades  of  modern  busi- 
ness architecture.  The  occupants  are  very  proud 
of  the  balconies,  in  particular;  and,  summer  days, 
these  will  be  a  mass  of  greenery  and  bright  tints. 
To-day,  it  was  so  warm,  February  day  though  it 
was,  that  some  of  the  potted  plants  were  sunning 
themselves  outside  the   windows. 

Till}7  could  see  them  if  she  craned  her  neck. 
There  were  some  bouvardias  arid  fuchsias  of  her 
mother's  among  them. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  building,"  said  Till}' ;  and,  for 
some  reason,  she   frowned. 


MOTHER   EMERITUS  I  37 

She  was  a  young  woman,  but  not  a  very  young 
woman.  Her  figure  was  slim,  and  she  looked  bet- 
ter in  loose  waists  than  in  tightly  fitted  gowns. 
She  wore  a  dark  green  gown  with  a  black  jacket, 
and  a  scarlet  shirt-waist  underneath.  Her  face 
was  long,  with  square  chin  and  high  cheek-bones, 
and  thin,  firm  lips;  yet  she  was  comely,  because 
of  her  lustrous  black  hair,  her  clear,  gray  eyes, 
and  her  charming,  fair  skin.  She  had  another 
gift  :  everything  about  her  was  daintily  neat ;  at 
first  glance  one  said,  "  Here  is  a  person  who  has 
spent  pains,  if  not  money,  on  her  toilet." 

By  this  time  Tilly  was  entering  the  Lossing 
Building.  Half-way  up  the  stairway  a  hand 
plucked  her  skirts.  The  hand  belonged  to  a 
tired-faced  woman  in  black,  on  whose  breast  glit- 
tered a  little  crowd  of  pins  and  threaded  needles, 
like  the  insignia  of  an  Order  of  Toil. 

"  Please  excuse  me,  Miss  Tilly,"  said  the  wom- 
an, at  the  same  time  presenting  a  flat  package 
in  brown  paper,  "  but  will  you  give  this  pattern 
back  to  your  mother.  I  am  so  very  much 
obliged.  I  don't  know  how  I  would  git  along 
without  your  mother,  Tilly." 

"  I'll  give  the  pattern  to  her,"  said  Tilly,  and 
she  pursued  her  way. 


I  .vS  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

Not  very  far.  A  stout  woman  and  a  thin 
young  man,  with  long,  wavy,  red  hair,  awaited 
iter  on  the  landing.  The  woman  held  a  plate  of 
cake  which  she  thrust  at  Tilly  the  instant  they 
were  on  the  same  level,  saying:  "The  cake  was 
just  splendid,  tell  your  mother;  it's  a  lovely 
recipe,  and  will  you  tell  her  to  take  this,  and  see 
how    well    I    succeeded  .'  " 

"And — ah  —  Miss  Louder,"  said  the  man,  as  the 
stout  woman  rustled  away,  "  here  are  some  Ban- 
ner of  Lights ;  I  think  she'd  be  interested  in  some 
of  the  articles  on  the  true  principles  of  the  inspi- 
rational faith —  Till\-  placed  the  bundle  of 
newspapers  at  the  base  of  her  load — "and — and, 
I  wish  you'd  tell  your  dear  mother  that,  under 
the  angels,  her  mustard  plaster  really  saved 
my  life." 

"  I'll   tell   her,"  said  Tilly. 

She  had  advanced  a  little  space  before  a  young 
girl  in  a  bright  blue  silk  gown  Hung  a  radiant 
presence  between  her  and  the  door.  "  Oh,  Miss 
Tilly,"  she  murmured,  blushing,  "  will  you  just 
give  your  mother  this? — it's — it's  Jim's  photo- 
graph. You  tell  her  it's  all  right  ;  and  she  was  ex- 
actly right,  and  /  was  wrong.      She'll  understand." 

Tilly,  with    a    look    of    resignation,  accepted    a 


The  cake  was  just  splendid. 


14°  .STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

stiff  package  done  up  in  white  tissue  paper.  She 
had  now  only  three  steps  to  take:  she  took  two, 
only  two,  for  —  '"Miss  Tilly,  please!''  a  voice 
pealed  around  the  corner,  while  a  flushed  and 
breathless  young  woman,  with  a  large  baby  top- 
pling over  her  lean  shoulder,  staggered  into  view. 
"  My  !"  she  panted,  "  ain't  it  tiresome  lugging  a 
child!  I  missed  the  car,  of  course,  coming  home 
from  ma's.  Oh,  say,  Tilly,  your  mother  was  so 
good,  she  said  she'd  tend  Blossom  next  time  I 
went  to  the  doctor's,  and— 

"I'll  take  the  baby,"  said  Tilly.  She  hoisted 
the  infant  on  to  her  own  shoulder  with  her  right 
arm.  "  Perhaps  you'll  be  so  kind's  to  turn  the 
handle  of  the  door,"  said  she  in  a  slightly  caustic 
tone,  "  as  I  haven't  got  any  hands  left.  Please 
shut   it,   too." 

As  the  young  mother  opened  the  door,  Tilly 
entered  the  parlor.  For  a  second  she  stood  and 
stared  grimly  about  her.  The  furniture  of  the 
room  was  old-fashioned  but  in  the  best  repair. 
There  was  a  cabinet  organ  in  one  corner.  A 
crayon  portrait  of  Tilly's  father  (killed  in  the 
civil  war)  glared  out  of  a  florid  gilt  frame.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  fault  of  the  portrait,  but  he  had 
a  peevish  frown.      There   were   two  other  portraits 


MOTHER   EMERITUS  141 

of  him,  large  ghastly  gray  tintypes  in  oval  frames 
of  rosewood,  obscurely  suggesting  coffins.  In 
these  he  looked  distinctly  sullen.  He  was  rep- 
resented in  uniform  (being  a  lieutenant  of  volun- 
teers), and  the  artist  had  conscientiously  gilded 
his  buttons  until,  as  Airs.  Louder  was  wont  to 
observe,  "  It  most  made  you  want  to  cut  them 
off  with  the  scissors."  There  were  other  tin- 
types and  a  flock  of  photographs  in  the  room. 
What  Mrs.  Louder  named  "  a  throw  "  decorated 
each  framed  picture  and  each  chair.  The  largest 
arm-chair  was  drawn  up  to  a  table  covered  with 
books  and  magazines :  in  the  chair  sat  Mrs. 
Louder,   reading. 

At  Tilly's  entrance  she  started  and  turned  her 
head,  and  then  one  could  see  that  the  tears  were 
streaming  down  her  cheeks. 

"Now,  motJicr !  "  exploded  Till)-.  Kicking  the 
door  open,  she  marched  into  the  bed-chamber. 
An  indignant  sweep  of  one  arm  sent  the  miscel- 
lany of  gifts  into  a  rocking-chair  ;  an  indignant 
curve  of  the  other  landed  the  baby  on  the  bed. 
Tilly  turned  on  her  mother.  "  Now,  mother, 
what  did  you  promise — hush  !  will  you  ?  "  (The 
latter  part  of  the  sentence  a  fierce  "  aside  "  to  the 
infant   on  the  bed.)     In   a   second    Mrs.  Louder's 


14-' 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


arms  were  encircling  him,  and  she  was  soothing 
him  on  her  broad  shoulder,  where  I  know  not 
how  man}'  babies  have  found  comfort. 

fane  Louder  was  a  tall  woman — t.dl  and  portly. 
She  had  a  massive  repose  about  her,  a  kind  of 
soft  dignity  ;  and  a  stranger  would  not  guess  how 
tender  was  her  heart.  Deprecatingly  she  looked 
up  at  her  only  child,  standing  in  judgment  over 
her.  Her  eyes  were  fine  still,  though  they  had 
sparkled  and  wept  for  more  than  half  a  century. 
They  were  not  gray,  like  Tilly's,  but  a  deep  violet, 
with  black  eyelashes  and  eyebrows.  Black,  once, 
had  been  the  hair  under  the  widow's  cap,  now 
streaked  with  silver;  but  Jane  Loader's  skin  was 
fresh  and  daintily  tinted  like  her  daughter's,  for 
all  its  fine  wrinkles.  Her  voice  when  she  spoke 
was  mellow  and  slow,  with  a  nervous  vibration 
of  apology.  "Newer  mind,  dear,"  she  said,  ''I 
was  just  reading  'bout  the  Russians." 

"  I  knew  it  !  You  promised  me  you  wouldn't 
cry  about    the    Russians  any  more." 

"  I  know,  Till\-,  but  Alma  Brown  lent  this  to 
me,  herself.  There's  a  beautiful  article  in  it  about 
'The  Horrors  of  Hunger.'  It  would  make  your 
heart  ache  !      I  wish  you  would  read  it,  Till}'." 

"  No,    thank    you.      I    don't    care    to    have    my 


MOTHER   EMERITUS  143 

heart  ache.  I'm  not  going  to  read  any  more 
horrors  about  the  Russians,  or  hear  them  either, 
if  I  can  help  it.  I  have  to  write  Mr.  Lossing's 
letters  about  them,  and  that's  enough.  I've 
given  all  I  can  afford,  and  you've  given  more 
than  you  can  afford  ;  and  I  helped  get  up  the 
subscription  at  the  shops.  I've  done  all  I  could  ; 
and  now  I  ain't  going  to  have  my  feelings  har- 
rowed up  any  more,  when  it  won't  do  me  nor  the 
Russians  a   mite  of  good." 

"  But  I  cayn't  help  it,  Tilly.  I  cayn't  take  any 
comfort  in  my  meals,  thinking  of  that  awful  black 
bread  the  poor  children  starve  rather  than  eat ; 
and,  Till}-,  they  ain't  so  dirty  as  some  folks  think  ! 
I  read  in  a  magazine  how  they  have  got  to  bathe 
twice  a  week  by  their  religion  ;  and  there's  a 
bath-house  in  every  village.  Tilly,  do  you  know 
how  much  money  they've  raised  here  ?  " 

"  Over  three  thousand.  This  town  is  the 
greatest  town  for  giving — give  to  the  cholera 
down  South,  give  to  Johnstown,  give  to  Grinned, 
give  to  cyclones,  give  to  fires.  The  Freeman  al- 
ways starts  up  a  subscription,  and  Mr.  Bayard 
runs  the  thing,  and  Mr.  Lossing  always  gives. 
Mother,  I  tell  you  he  makes  them  hustle  when 
he  takes  hold.      He's  the   chairman    here,  and  he 


144  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

has  township  chairmen  appointed  for  every  town- 
ship, lie's  so  popular  they  start  in  to  oblige 
him,  and  then,  someway,  he  makes  them  all  in- 
terested. I  must  tell  you  of  a  funny  letter  he 
had  to-day  from  a  Captain  Ferguson,  out  at 
Baxter,  lie's  a  rich  farmer  with  lots  of  influence 
and  a  great  worker,  -Mr.  Lossing  says.  But  this 
is  'most  word  lor  word  what  he  wrote:  'Dear 
Sir:  I  am  son")'  for  the  Russians,  but  my  wife  is 
down  with  the  la  grippe,  and  I  can't  get  a  hired 
girl;  so  I  have  to  stay  with  her.  If  you'll  get 
me  a  hired  girl,  I'll  get  you  a  lot  of  money  for 
the   Russians."  " 

"  Did   he  git  a  girl  ?      I    mean    Mr.  Lossing." 

"No,  ma'am.  He  said  he'd  try  if  it  was  the 
city,  but  it  was  easier  finding  gold-mines  than 
girls  that  would  go  into  the  country.  See  here, 
I'm  forgetting  your  presents.  Mother,  you  look 
real  dragged  and — queer  !  " 

''  It's  nothing;  jist  a  thought  kinder  struck  me 
'bout — 'bout   that   girl." 

Till}'  was  sorting  out  the  parcels  and  explain- 
ing them  ;  at  the  end  of  her  task  her  mind  harked 
back  to  an  old  grievance.  "  Mother,"  said  she, 
"  I've  been  thinking  for  a  long  time,  and  I've 
made  up  my  mind." 


MOTHER   EMERITUS  145 

"Yes,  dearie."  Mrs.  Lender's  eyes  grew  troub- 
led. She  knew  something  of  the  quality  of 
Tilly's  mind,  which  resembled  her  father's  in  a 
peculiar  immobility.  Once  let  her  decision  run 
into  an)-  mould  (be  it  whatsoever  it  might),  and 
let  it  stiffen,  there  was  no  chance,  any  more  than 
with  other  iron  things,  of  its  bending. 

"  Positively  I  could  hardly  get  up  the  stairs  to- 
day," said  Tilly — she  was  putting  her  jacket  and 
hat  away  in  her  orderly  fashion  ;  of  necessity  her 
back  was  to  Mrs.  Louder — "  there  was  such  a  raft 
of  people  wanting  to  send  stuff  and  messages  to 
you.  You  are  just  working  yourself  to  death  ;  and, 
mother,  I  am  convinced  we  have  got  to  move  !  " 

Mrs.  Louder  dropped  into  a  chair  and  gasped. 
The  baby,  who  had  fallen  asleep,  stirred  uneasily. 
It  was  not  a  pretty  child  ;  its  face  was  heavy,  its 
little  cheeks  were  roughened  by  the  wind,  its 
lower  lip  sagged,  its  chin  creased  into  the  sem- 
blance of  a  fat  old  man's.  Rut  Jane  Louder 
gazed  down  on  it  with  infinite  compassion.  She 
stroked  its  head  as  she  spoke. 

"Tilly,"  said  she,  "I've  been  in  this  block, 
Mrs.  Carleton  and  me,  ever  since  it  was  built ; 
and,  some  way,  between  us  we've  managed  to 
keep  the  run  of  all  the  folks  in    it  ;  at  least  when 

IO 


14-6  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

they  were  in  any  trouble.  We've  worked  to- 
gether like  sisters.  She's  'Piscopal,  and  I  guess 
I'm  Unitarian  ;  but  never  a  word  between  us. 
We  tended  the  Willardses  through  diphtheria 
and  the  Hopkinses  through  small-pox,  and  we 
steamed  and  fumigated  the  rooms  together.  It 
was  her  first  found  out  the  Dillses  were  letting 
that  twelve-year-old  child  run  the  gasoline  stove, 
and  she  threatened  to  tell  Mr.  Tossing,  and  they 
begged  off  ;  and  when  it  exploded  we  put  it  out 
together,  with  flour  out  ol  her  Hour-barrel,  for 
the  poor,  shiftless  things  hadn't  half  a  sack  full 
of  their  own  ;  and  her  and  me,  we  took  half  the 
care  of  that  little  neglected  Ellis  baby  that  was 
always  sitting  down  in  the  stick}*  fly-paper,  poor 
innocent  child.  lie's  took  the  valedictory  at  the 
High  School,  Till)-,  now.  No,  Tilly,  I  couldn't 
bring  myself  to  leave  this  building,  where  I've 
married  them,  and  buried  them,  and  born  them, 
you  ma}-  say,  being  with  so  main-  of  their 
mothers;  I  feel  like  the}-  was  all  my  children. 
Don't  ask  me." 

Tilly's  head  went  upward  and  backward  with  a 
little  dilatation  of  the  nostrils.  "  Now,  mother," 
said  she  in  a  voice  of  determined  gentleness, 
"  just  listen  to  me.     Would   I  ask  you  to  do  any- 


"  We  put  it  out  together  with   flour  out  of  her  flour-barrel." 


I48  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

thing  that  wouldn't  be  for  your  happiness?  I 
have  found  a  real  pretty  house  up  on  Fifteenth 
Street;  and  we'll  keep  house  together,  just  as 
cose}- ;  and  have  a  woman  come  to  wash  and  iron 
and  send),  so  it  won't  be  a  bit  hard  ;  and  be  right 
on  the  street-cars;  and  you  won't  have  to  drudge 
helping  Airs.  Carleton  extra  times  with  her  restau- 
rant." 

"  But,  Till}-,"  eagerly  interrupted  Mrs.  Louder, 
"you  know  I  dearly  love  to  cook,  and  she  pays 
me.  I  couldn't  feel  right  to  take  any  of  the 
pension  money,  or  the  little  property  your  father 
left  me,  away  from  the  house  expenses  ;  but  what 
I  earn  myself,  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  give  away 
out  of  that." 

Till}'  ran  over  and  kissed  the  agitated  face. 
"You  dear,  generous  mother!"  cried  she,  ''I'll 
give  you  all  the  money  you  want  to  spend  or 
give.  I  got  another  rise  in  my  salary  of  five  a 
month.     Don't  you  worry." 

"  You  ain't  thinking  of  doing  anything  right 
away.  Till}'  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  best  done  and  over  with, 
after  we've  decided,  mother  ?  You  have  worked 
so  hard  all  your  life  I  want  to  give  you  some  ease 
and  peace  now." 


MOTHER   EMERITUS  149 

"  But,  Tilly,  I  love  to  work  ;  I  wouldn't  be 
happy  to  do  nothing,  and   I'd  get  so  fleshy  !  " 

Tilly  only  laughed.  She  did  not  crave  the 
show  of  authority.  Let  her  but  have  her  own 
way,  she  would  never  flaunt  her  victories.  She 
was  imperious,  but  she  was  not  arrogant.  For 
months  she  had  been  pondering  how  to  give  her 
mother  an  easier  life  ;  and  she  set  the  table  for 
supper,  in  a  filial  glow  of  satisfaction,  never 
dreaming  that  her  mother,  in  the  kitchen,  was 
keeping  her  head  turned  from  the  stove  lest  she 
should  cry  into  the  fried  ham  and  stewed  pota- 
toes. But,  at  a  sudden  thought,  Jane  Louder 
laid  her  big  spoon   down  to  wipe  her  eyes. 

"Here  you  are,  Jane  Louder" — thus  she  ad- 
dressed herself — "  mourning  and  grieving  to  leave 
your  friends  and  be  laid  aside  for  a  useless  old- 
woman,  and  jist  be  taken  care  of,  and  you  clean 
forgetting  the  chance  the  Lord  gives  you  to 
help  more'n  you  ever  helped  in  your  life  !  For 
shame  !  " 

A  smile  of  exaltation,  of  lofty  resolution, 
erased  the  worry  lines  on  her  face.  "  Why,  it 
might  be  to  save  twenty  lives,"  said  she  ;  but  in 
the  very  speaking  of  the  words  a  sharp  pain 
wrenched    her    heart    again,    and    she    caught    up 


150  STORIES  <>/■    A    WESTERN    TOWN 


the  baby  from  the  floor,  where  he  sat  in  a  wall 
ol  chairs,  and  sobbed  over  him:  "Oh,  how  can  I 
go  away  when  I  got  to  go  for  good  so  soon?  1 
want   every  minnit  !  "' 

She  never  thought  oi  disputing  rilly's  wishes. 
••  It's  only  fair,"  said  Jane.  ••She's  lived  here  all 
these  years  to  please  me,  and  now  I  ought  to  be 
willing  t<>  go  to  please  her." 

Neither  did  she  for  a  moment  hope  to  change 
Tilly's  determination.  "She  was  the  settest  baby 
ever  was,"  thought  poor  Jane,  tossing  on  her  pil- 
low, in  the  night  watches,  "  and  it's  grown  with 
every  inch  of  her !  " 

Hut  in  tlie  morning  she  surprised  her  daughter. 
-  Tilly,"  said  she  at  the  breakfast-table,  "  Tilly, 
I  got  something  I  must  do,  and  I  don't  want  you 
to  oppose  me." 

"Good  gracious,  ma!"  said  Till}';  "as  if  I  ever 
opposed  you  !  " 

"  You  know  how  bad  I  have  been  feeling  about 
the   poor  Russians " 

"Well?" 

"  And  how  I've  wished  and  wished  I  could  do 
something — something  to  count  ?  I  never  could, 
Tilly,  because  I  ain't  got  the  money  or  the  intel- 
lect ;    but   s'posing    I    could    do    it    for   somebody 


MOTHER    EMERITUS  I  5  I 

else,  like  this  Captain  Ferguson  who  could  do  so 
much  if  he  just  could  get  a  hired  girl  to  take  care 
of  his  wife.  Well,  I  do  know  how  to  cook  and  to 
keep  a  house   neat   and    to   do   for  the   sick " 

Tilly  could  restrain  herself  no  longer;  her  voice 
rose  to  a  shout  of  dismay — "  Mother  Louder,  you 
ain't  thinking  of  going  to  be  the  Ferguson's  hired 
girl!- 

"  Not  their  hired  girl,  Tilly  ;  just  their  help,  so 
as  he  can  work  for  those  poor  starving  creatures." 
Jane  strangled  a  sob  in  her  throat.  Tilly,  in  a 
kind  of  stupor  of  bewilderment,  frowned  at  her 
plate.  Then  her  clouded  face  cleared.  If  Mrs. 
Louder  had  surprised  her  daughter,  her  daughter 
repaid  the  surprise.  "  Well,  if  you  feel  that  way, 
mother,"  said  she,  "  I  won't  say  a  word  ;  and  I'll 
ask  Mr.  Lossing  to  explain  to  the  Fergusons  and 
fix  everything.      He  will." 

"  You're  real  good,  Tilly." 

"  And  while  you're  gone  I  guess  it  will  be  a 
good  plan   to  move  and  git  settled " 

For  some  reason  Tilly's  throat  felt  dry,  she 
lifted  her  cup.  She  did  not  intend  to  look  across 
the  table,  but  her  eyes  escaped  her.  She  set  the 
coffee  down  untasted.  The  clock  was  slow,  she 
muttered  ;  and  she  left  the  room. 


•5- 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


Jane  Louder  remained  in  her  place,  with  the 
same  pale   face,   staring  at    the   table-cloth. 

"  It  don't  seem  like  I  could  go,  now,"  she 
thought  dull\-  to  herself;  "the  time's  so  awful 
short,  I  don't  s'pose  Maria  Carleton  can  git  up  to 
see  me  more'n  once  or  twice  a  month,  busy  as  she 
is  !  I  got  so  to  depend  on  seeing  her  every  day. 
A  sister  couldn't  be  kinder!  I  don't  see  how  I 
am  going  to  bear  it.  And  to  go  away,  before- 
hand  " 

For  a  long  while  she  sat,  her  face  hardly  chang- 
ing. At  last,  when  she  did  push  her  chair  away, 
her  lips  were  tightly  closed.  She  spoke  to  the 
little  pile  of  books  lying  on  the  table  in  the  cor- 
ner. "  I  cayn't — these  are  my  own  and  you  are 
strangers  !  "  She  walked  -across  the  room  to  take 
up  the  same  magazine  which  Till}'  had  found  her 
reading  the  da}'  before.  When  she  began  reading 
she  looked  stern — poor  Jane,  she  was  steeling  her 
heart — but  in  a  little  while  she  was  sniffing  and 
blowing  her  nose.  With  a  groan  she  flung  the 
book  aside.  "  It's  no  use,  I  would  feel  like  a 
murderer  if   I   don't  go  !  "  said   she. 

She  did  go.  Harry  Lossing  made  all  the  ar- 
rangements. Till}'  was  satisfied.  But,  then, 
Tilly    had     not     heard     Harry's     remark     to    his 


MOTHER  EMERITUS  153 

mother:  "Alma  says  Miss  Louder  is  trying  to 
make  the  old  lady  move  against  her  will.  I  dare 
say  it  would  be  better  to  give  the  young  woman 
a  chance  to  miss  her  mother  and  take  a  little 
quiet   think." 

Till)'  saw  her  mother  off  on  the  train  to  Baxter, 
the  Fergusons'  station.  Being  a  provident,  far- 
sighted,  and  also  inexperienced  traveller,  she  had 
allowed  a  full  half-hour  for  preliminary  passages 
at  arms  with  the  railway  officials  ;  and,  as  the 
train  happened  to  be  an  hour  late,  she  found 
herself  with  time  to  spare,  even  after  she  had 
exhausted  the  catalogue  of  possible  deceptions 
and  catastrophes  by  rail.  During  the  silence 
that  followed  her  last  warning,  she  sat  mentally 
keeping  tally  on  her  fingers.  "  Confidence  men  " 
— Tilly  began  with  the  thumb — "  Never  give  any- 
body her  check.  Never  lend  anybody  money. 
Never  write  her  name  to  anything.  Don't  get 
out  till  conductor  tells  her.  In  case  of  accident, 
telegraph  me,  and  keep  in  the  middle  of  the  car, 
off  the  trucks.  Not  take  care  of  anybody's  baby 
while  she  goes  off  for  a  minute.  Not  take  care  of 
babies  at  all.  Or  children.  Not  talk  to  strangers 
— good  gracious  !  " 

Till)-    felt    a    movement    of    impatience ;  there, 


154  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

after  .ill  her  cautions,  there  was  her  mother  help- 
ing an  old  woman,  an  utterly  strange  old  woman, 
to  pile  a  bird-cage  on  a  bandbox  surmounting  a 
bag.  The  old  woman  was  clad  in  a  black  alpaca 
frock,  made  with  the  voluminous  draperies  of 
years  ago,  but  with  the  uncreased  folds  and  the 
brilliant  gloss  of  a  new  gown.  She  wore  a  bon- 
net of  a  singular  shape,  unknown  to  fashion,  but 
made  out  of  good  velvet.  Beneath  the  bonnet 
(which  was  large)  appeared  a  little,  round,  agi- 
tated old  face,  with  bobbing  white  curls  and  white 
teeth  set  a  little  apart  in  the  mouth,  a  defect  that 
brought  a  kind  of  palpitating  frankness  into  the 
expression. 

"Now,  who  has  mother  picked  up  now?" 
thought  Tillw  "  Well,  praise  be,  she  hasn't  a 
baby,  anyhow  !  " 

She  could  hear  the  talk  between  the  two  ;  for 
the  old  woman  being  deaf,  Mrs.  Louder  elevated 
her  voice,  and  the  old  woman,  herself,  spoke  in  a 
high,  thin  pipe  that  somehow  reminded  Tilly  of 
a  lost  lamb. 

"  That's  just  so,"  said  Mrs.  Louder,  "  a  body 
cayn't  help  worrying  over  a  sick  child,  especially  if 
they're  away  from  you." 

"  Solon   and    Minnie  wouldn't  tell  me,"  bleated 


;6 


STORIES   (>/■'  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


the  other  woman,  "they  knew  I'd  worry.  Kinder 
hurt  me  they  should  keep  things  from  me;  but 
they  hate  to  have  me  upset.  They  arc  awful 
good  children.  But  I  suspicioned  something 
when  Alonzo  kept  writing.  Minnie,  she  wouldn't 
tell  me,  but  I  pinned  her  down  and  it  come  out, 
Eliza  had  the  grip  bad.  And,  then,  nothing 
would  do  but  I  must  go  to  her  why,  Mrs. 
Louder,  she's  my  child  !  But  they  wouldn't  hark 
to  it.     'Fraid  to  have  me  travel  alone " 

"I  guess  they  take  awful  good  care  of  you," 
said    Mrs.    Louder;   and   she   sighed. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  awful."      She.  too,  sighed. 

As  she  talked  her  eyes  were  darting  about  the 
room,   eagerly   fixed  on   every  new  arrival. 

"Are  you  expecting  anyone,  Mrs.  Higbee?" 
said  Jane.  They  seemed,  at  least,  to  know  each 
other  by  name,  thought  Tilly;  it  was  amazing  the 
number  of  people  mother  did  know  ! 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Higbee,  "  I — I — fact  is,  I'm 
kinder  frightened.  I — fact  is,  Mrs.  Louder,  I 
guess  I'll  tell  you,  though  I  don't  know  you  very 
well;  but  I've  known  about  you  so  long — I  run 
away  and  didn't  tell  'em.  I  just  couldn't  stay 
way  from  Liza.  And  I  took  the  bird — for  the 
children;  and  it's  my  bird,  and  I  was  'fraid  Minnie 


MOTHER   EMERITUS  I  57 

would  forget  to  feed  it  and  it  would  be  lonesome. 
My  children  are  awful  kind  good  children,  but 
they  don't  understand.  And  if  Solon  sees  me 
he  will  want  me  to  go  back.  I  know  I'm  dretful 
foolish  ;  and  Solon  and  Minnie  will  make  me  see 
I  am.  There  won't  be  no  good  reason  for  me  to 
go,  and  I'll  have  to  stay  ;  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should 
fly — Oh,  massy  sakes !  there's  Solon  coming  down 
the  street " 

She  ran  a  few  steps  in  half  a  dozen  ways,  then 
fluttered  back  to  her  bag  and  her  cage. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Louder,  drawing  herself  up 
to  her  full  height,  "you  shall  go  if  you  want  to." 

"  Solon  will  find  me,  he'll  know  the  bird-cage  ! 
Oh,  dear!     Oh,  dear!" 

Then  a  most  unexpected  helper  stepped  upon 
the  stage.  What  is  the  mysterious  instinct  of 
rebellion  to  authority  that,  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
sends  us  to  the  aid  of  a  fugitive  ?  Tilly,  the 
unconscious  despot  of  her  own  mother,  promptly 
aided  and  abetted  Solon's  rebel  mother  in  her 
flight. 

"  Not  if  /  carry  it,"  said  she,  snatching  up  the 
bird-cage  ;  "  run  inside  that  den  where  they  sell 
refreshments ;  he'll  see  me  and  go  somewhere 
else." 


15S  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

It  fell  out  precisely  as  she  planned.  They 
heard  Solon  demanding  a  lady  with  a  bird-cage  of 
the  agent  ;  they  heard  the  agent's  reply,  given 
with  official  indifference,  "  There  she  is,  inside." 
Directly,  Solon,  a  small  man  with  an  anxious 
mien,  ran  into  the  waiting-room,  flung  a  glance  oi 
disappointment  at  Tilly,  and  ran  out  again. 

Tilly  went  to  her  client.  "  Did  he  look  like  he 
was  anxious?"  was  the  mother's  greeting.  "  Oh, 
I  just  know  he  and  Minnie  will  be  hunting  me 
everywhere.  Maybe  1  had  better  go  home,  'stead 
of  to   Baxter." 

"No,  you  hadn't,"  said  Tilly,  with  decision. 
"  Mothers  going  to  Baxter,  too,  and  it  you  like, 
minnit  you're  safely  off,  I'll  go  tell  your  folks." 

"  You're  real  kind,  I'd  be  ever  so  much  obliged. 
And  yon  don't  mind  your  ma  travelling  alone  ? 
ain't  that  nice  for  her!"  She  seemed  much 
cheered  by  the  prospect  ot  company  and  warmed 
into   confidences. 

"  I  am  kinder  lonesome,  sometimes,  that's  a 
fact,"  said  she,  "  and  I  kinder  wish  I  lived  in  a 
block  or  a  flat  like  your  ma.  You  see,  Minnie 
teaches  in  the  public  school  and  she's  away  all 
day,  and  she  don't  like  to  have  me  make  company 
of  the    hired    girl,    though    she's    a    real   nice    girl. 


MOTHER  EMERITUS  I  59 

And  there  ain't  nothing  for  me  to  do,  and  I  feel 
like  I  wasn't  no  use  any  more  in  the  world.  I 
remember  that's  what  our  old  minister  in  Ohio 
said  once.  He  was  a  real  nice  old  man  ;  and  they 
had  thought  everything  of  him  in  the  parish  ;  but 
he  got  old  and  his  sermons  were  long  ;  and  so 
they  got  a  young  man  for  assistant ;  and  they 
ma.de/uma_pastoramertcus,  the)-  called  it — some 
sort  of  Latin.  Folks  did  say  the  young  feller  was 
stuck  up  and  snubbed  the  old  man  ;  anyhow,  he 
never  preached  after  young  Lisbon  come  ;  and 
only  made  the  first  prayers.  But  when  the  old 
folks  would  ask  him  to  preach  some  of  the  old 
sermons  they  had  liked,  he  only  would  say,  '  No, 
friends,  I  know  more  about  my  sermons,  now.' 
He  didn't  live  very  long,  and  I  always  kinder 
fancied  being  a  americus  killed  him.  And  some 
days  I  git  to  feeling  like  I  was  a  kinder  americus 
myself." 

"That  ain't  fair  to  your  children,"  said  Tilly ; 
"  you  ought  to  let  them  know  how  you  feel. 
Then  they'd  act  different." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know.  You  see, 
miss,  they're  so  sure  they  know  better'n  me. 
Say,  Mrs.  Louder,  be  you  going  to  visit  relatives 
in   Baxter  ?  " 


i6o 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


"  No,  ma'am,  I'm  going  1"  take  care  of  a  sick 
lady,"  said  Jane,  "  it's  kinder  queer.  Her  name's 
Ferguson,  her— 

"  For  the  land's  sake  !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Higbee, 
"  why,  that's  my  'Li/a  !  "  She  was  in  a  flutter  of 
surprise  and  delight,  and  so  absorbed  was  Tilly  in 
getting  her  and  her  unwieldy  luggage  into  the  car, 
that  Jane's  daughter  forgot  to  kiss  her  mother 
g<  x  id-by. 

"  Tut  your  arm  in  quick,"  she  yelled,  as  Jane 
essayed  to  kiss  her  hand  through  the  window* ; 
"  don't  ever  put  your  arm  or  your  head  out  of  a 
train  !  " — the  train  moved  away — "  I  do  hope  she'll 
remember  what  1  told  her,  and  not  lend  anybody 
money,  or  come  home  lugging  somebody  else's 
baby!" 

With  such  reflections,  and  an  ugly  sensation  of 
loneliness  creeping  over  her,  Tilly  went  to  assure 
Miss  Minnie  Higbee  of  her  mother's  safety.  She 
described  her  reception  to  Harry  Lossing  and 
Alma,  later.  "  She  really  seemed  kinder  mad  at 
me,"  says  Till}",  "  seemed  to  think  I  was  interfer- 
ing somehow.  .And  she  hadn't  any  business  to 
feel  that  way,  for  she  didn't  know  how  I'd  fooled 
her  brother  with  that  bird-cage.  I  guess  the  poor 
old   lady  daren't  call   her  soul    her  own.      I'd    hate 


MOTHER  EMERITUS  l6l 

to  have  my  mother  that  way — so  'fraid  of  me.  J\Iy 
mother  shall  go  where  she  pleases,  and  stay  where 
she  pleases,  and  do  as  she  pleases." 

"  That  makes  me  think,"  says  Alma,  "  I  heard 
you  were  going  to  move." 

"Yes,  we  are.  Mother  is  working  too  hard. 
She  knows  everybody  in  the  building,  and  they 
call  on  her  all  the  time  ;  and  I  think  the  easiest 
way  out   is  just  to  move.'' 

Alma  and  Mr.  Lossing  exchanged  glances. 
There  is  an  Arabian  legend  of  an  angel  whose 
trade  it  is  to  decipher  the  language  of  faces.  This 
angel  must  have  perceived  that  Alma's  eyes  said, 
with  the  courage  of  a  second  in  a  duel,  "  Go  on, 
now  is  the  time  !  "  and  that  Harry's  answered, 
with  masculine  pusillanimity,   "  I  don't   like  to  !  " 

But  he  spoke.  "  Very  likely  your  mother  does 
sometimes  work  too  hard,"  said  he.  "  But  don't 
you  think  it  would  be  harder  for  her  not  to  work  ? 
Why,  she  must  have  been  in  the  building  ever 
since  my  father  bought  it  ;  and  she's  been  a  janitor 
and  a  fire  inspector  and  a  doctor  and  a  ministering 
angel  combined !  That  is  why  we  never  raised  the 
rent  to  you  when  we  improved  the  building,  and 
raised  it  on  the  others.  My  father  told  me  your 
mother  was  the  best  paying  tenant  he  ever  had. 
1 1 


1 62  STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

And  don't  you  remember  how,  when  I  used  to 
conic  with  him,  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  she  used 
to  take  me  in  her  room  while  he  went  the  rounds? 
She  was  always  doing  good  to  everybody,  the  same 
way.  She  has  a  heart  as  big  as  the  Mississippi, 
and  I  assure  you,  Miss  Louder,  you  won't  make 
her  happy,  but  miserable,  if  you  try  to  dam  up  its 
channel.  She  has  often  told  me  that  she  loved 
the  building  and  all  the  people  in  it.  They  all 
love  her.  I  hope,  Miss  Louder,  you'll  think  of 
those  things  before  you  decide.  She  is  so  un- 
selfish that  she  would  go  in  a  minute  if  she 
thought  it  would  make  you  happier."  The  angel 
aforesaid,  during  this  speech  (which  Harry  de- 
livered with  great  energy  and  feeling),  must  have 
had  all  his  wits  bus}- on  Tilly's  impassive  features; 
but  he  could  read  ardent  approval,  succeeded  by 
indignation,  on  Alma's  countenance,  at  his  first 
glance.  The  indignation  came  when  Till}-  spoke. 
She  said  :  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Lossing,  you're  very 
kind,  I'm  sure" — Harry  softly  kicked  the  waste- 
basket  under  the  desk — "  but  I  guess  it's  best  for 
us  to  go.  I've  been  thinking  about  it  for  six 
months,  and  I  know  it  will  be  a  hard  struggle  for 
mother  to  go  ;  but  in  a  little  while  she  will  be  glad 
she  went.       It's  only   for   her  sake  I  am  doing  it  ; 


MOTHER   EMERITUS  1 63 

it  ain't  an  easy  or  a  pleasant  tiling  for  me  to  do, 
either "  As  Tilly  stopped  her  voice  was  un- 
steady, and  the  rare  tears  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"  What's  best  for  her  is  the  only  question,  of 
course,"  said   Alma,  helping   Harry  off  the   field. 

In  a  i'cw  days  Till)-  received  a  long  letter  from 
her  mother.  Mr.  Ferguson  was  doing  wonders 
for  the  Russians;  the  family  were  all  very  kind  to 
her  and  "  nice  folks  "  and  easily  pleased.  ("  Of 
course'  they're  pleased  with  mother's  cooking ; 
what  would  they  be  made  of  if  they  weren't  !  " 
cried  Tilly.)  It  was  wonderful  how  much  help 
Mrs.  Higbee  was  about  the  house,  and  how  happy 
it  made  her.  Mrs.  Ferguson  had  seemed  real  glad 
to  see  her,  and  that  made  her  happy.  And  then, 
maybe  it  helped  a  little,  her  (Jane  Louder's)  tell- 
ing Mrs.  Ferguson  ("  accidental  like  ")  how  Tilly 
treated  her,  never  trying  to  boss  her,  and  letting 
her  travel  alone.  Perhaps,  if  Mrs.  Ferguson  kept 
on  improving,  they  might  let  her  come  home  next 
week.     And  the  letter  ended  : 

"  I  will  be  so  glad  if  they  do,  for  I  want  to  see 
you  so  bad,  dear  daughter,  and  I  want  to  see  the 
old  home  once  more  before  we  leave.  I  guess  the 
house    you    tell   me  about  will  be  very  nice  and 


i^4 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOU'X 


convenient.  I  do  thank  you,  dear  daughter,  for 
being  so  nice  and  considerate  about  the  Russians. 
Give  my  love  to  Mrs.  Carleton  and  all  of  them; 
and  if  little  Bobby  Green  hasn't  missed  school 
since  I  left,  give  him  a  nickel,  please  ;  and  please 
give  that  medical  student  on  the  fifth  floor — I 
forget  his  name— the  stockings  I  mended.  They 
are  in  the  first  drawer  of  the  walnut  bureau. 
Good-by,   my  dear,  good  daughter. 

"  M<  ither,  Jam:  M.   Louder." 

When  Tilly  read  the  letter  she  was  surrounded 
by  wall-paper  and  carpet  samples.  Her  eyes  grew 
moist  before  she  laid  it  down  ;  but  she  set  her 
mouth  more  firmly. 

"  It  is  an  awful  short  time,  but  I've  just  got  to 
hurry  and  have  it  over  before  she  comes,"  said 
she. 

Next  week  Jane  returned.  She  was  on  the 
train,  waiting  in  her  seat  in  the  car,  when  Captain 
Ferguson  handed  her  Tilly's  last  letter,  which  had 
lain   in  the  post-office  for  three  days. 

It   was  very  short  : 


"DEAR   Mother:   I   shall   be  very  glad   indeed 
to  see   you.      I   have  a  surprise  which  I  hope  will 


1 66 


STORIES   (>/■    A    WESTERN    TOWN 


be  pleasant  for   you  ;  anyhow,  I  truly  have  meant 
it   for  your  happiness. 

"  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  M.   E.  Li  )UDER." 


There  must  have  been,  despite  her  shrewd 
sense,  an  obtuse  streak  in  Tilly,  else  she  would 
never  have  written  that  letter,  lane  read  it  twice. 
The  paper  rattled  in  her  hands.  "  Tilly  has  moved 
while  I  was  gone,"  she  said;  "  I  never  shall  live 
in  the  block  again."  She  dropped  her  veil  over 
her  face.  She  sat  very  quietly  in  her  seat  ;  but 
the  conductor  who  came  for  her  ticket  watched 
her  sharply,  she  seemed  so  dazed  by  his  demand 
and  was  so   long  in   finding  the  ticket. 

The  train  rumbled  and  hissed  through  darken- 
ing cornfields,  into  scattered  yellow  lights  of  low 
houses,  into  angles  of  white  light  of  street-arcs 
and  shop-windows,  into  the  red  and  blue  lights 
dancing  before  the  engines  in  the  station. 

"  Mother !"  cried  Tilly's  voice. 

Jane  let  her  and  Harry  Lossing  take  all  her 
bundles  and  lift  her  out  of  the  car.  Whether  she 
spoke  a  word  she  could  not  tell.  She  did  rouse 
a  little  at  the  vision  of  the  Lossing  carriage  glit- 
tering at   the  street   corner;  but   she  had   not  the 


MOTHER    EMERITUS  ^7 

sense  to  thank   Harry  Lossing,  who  placed  her  in 
the  carriage  and  lifted  his  hat  in   farewell. 

"  What's  he  doing  all  that  for,  Tilly  ?  "  cried 
she  ;  "  there  ain't — there  ain't  nobody  dead — 
Maria   Carleton—  She  stared   at   Tilly  wildly. 

Tilly  was  oddly  moved,  though  she  tried  to 
speak  lightly.  "  No,  no,  there  ain't  nothing  wrong, 
at  all.  It's  because  you've  done  so  much  for  the 
Russians — and  other  folks!  Now,  ma,  I'm  going 
to  be  mysterious.  You  must  shut  your  eyes  and 
shut  your  mouth  until  I  tell  you.  That's  a  dear 
ma." 

It  was  vaguely  comforting  to  have  Tilly  so 
affectionate.  "  I'm  a  wicked,  ungrateful  woman 
to  be  so  Avretched,"  thought  Jane  ;  "  I'll  never  let 
Tilly  know  how   I   felt." 

In  a  surprisingly  short  time  the  carriage 
stopped.     "  Now,  ma,"  said  Tilly. 

A  great  blaze  of  light  seemed  all  about  Jane 
Louder.  There  were  the  dear  familiar  windows  of 
the   Tossing  block. 

"  Come  up-stairs,  ma,"  said  Tilly. 

She  followed  like  one  in  a  dream  ;  and  like  one 
in  a  dream  she  was  pushed  into  her  own  old  parlor. 
The  old  parlor,  but  not  quite  the  old  parlor;  hung 
with  new  wall-paper,  shining  with   new   paint,  soft 


1 6S 


S TO  A' IKS   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


under  her  feet  with  a  new  carpet,  it  looked  to  Jane 
Louder  like   fairyland. 

"  Oh,  Tilly,"  she  gasped;  "oh,  Tilly,  ain't  you 
nn  >ved  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  we  ain't  going  to  move,  ma — that's 
the  surprise !  I  took  the  money  I'd  saved  for 
moving,  for  the  new  carpet  and  new  dishes;  and 
the  Lossings  they  papered  and  painted.  I  was 
so  'fraid  we  couldn't  get  done  in  time.  Alma  and 
all  the  hoarder.--  are  coming  in  pretty  soon  to  wel- 
come you,  and  they've  all  chipped  in  for  a  little 
banquet  at  Mrs.  Carleton's — why,  mother,  you're 
crying!  Mother,  you  didn't  really  think  I'd 
move  when  it  made  you  feel  so  had?  I  know  I'm 
set  and  stubborn,  and  I  didn't  take  it  well  when 
Mr.  Lossing  talked  to  me;  but  the  more  I  thought 
it  over,  the  more  I  seemed  to  myself  like  that 
hateful  Minnie.  Oh,  mother,  I  ain't,  am  I  ?  You 
shall  do  just  exactly  as  you  like  all  the  days  of 
vour  life  !  " 


AN   ASSISTED    PROVIDENCE 

IT  was  the  Christmas  turkeys  that  should  be 
held  responsible.  Ever)-  year  the  Lossings 
give  each  head  of  a  family  in  their  employ,  and 
each  lad  helping  to  support  his  mother,  a  turkey 
at  Christmastide.  As  the  business  has  grown,  so 
has  the  number  of  turkeys,  until  it  is  now  well 
up  in  the  hundreds,  and  requires  a  special  con- 
tract. Harry,  one  Christmas,  some  two  years 
ago,  bought  the  turkeys  at  so  good  a  bargain 
that  he  felt  the  natural  reaction  in  an  impulse 
to  extravagance.  In  the  very  flood-tide  of  the 
money-spending  yearnings,  he  chanced  to  pass 
Deacon  Hurst's  stables  and  to  see  two  Saint 
Bernard  puppies,  of  elephantine  size  but  of  the 
'tenderest  age,  gambolling  on  the  sidewalk  before 
the  office.  Deacon  Hurst,  I  should  explain,  is  no 
more  a  deacon  than  I  am  ;  he  is  a  livery-stable 
keeper,  very  honest,  a  keen  and  solemn  sports- 
man, and  withal  of  a  staid  demeanor  and  a  habit- 
ual garb  of  black.  Now  you  know  as  well  as  I 
an)'  reason  for  his  nickname. 


170 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


Deacon  Hurst  is  fond  of  the  dog  as  well  as  ol 
that  noble  animal  the  horse  (he  has  three  copies 
of  "  Black  Beauty"  in  his  stable,  which  would  do 
an  incalculable  amount  of  good  if  they  were  ever 
read!  |;  and  lie  usually  has  half  a  dozen  dogs  of 
his  own,  with  pedigrees  long  enough  for  a  poor 
gentlewoman  in  a  New  England  village.  He  told 
Harry  that  the  Saint  Bernards  were  grandsons  of 
Sir  Bcviderc,  the  "  finest  dog  of  his  time  in  the 
world,  sir;"  that  the}-  were  perfectly  marked  and 
very  large  for  their  age  (which  Harry  found  it 
easy  to  believe  <>f  the  young  giants),  and  th.it 
the\r  were  "ridiculous,  sir,  at  the  figger  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty!"  (which  Harry  did  not  believe 
so  readily);  and,  alter  Harry  had  admired  and 
studied  the  dogs  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour, 
he  dropped  the  price,  in  a  kind  of  spasm  of 
generosity,  to  two  hundred  dollars.  Harry  was 
tempted  to  close  the  bargain  on  the  spot,  hot- 
headed, but  he  decided  to  wait  and  prepare  his 
mother   for  such   a   large   addition   to   the   stable. 

The  more  he  dwelt  on  the  subject  the  more  he 
longed  to  buy  the  dogs. 

In  fact,  a  time  comes  to  every  health}-  man 
when  he  wants  a  dog,  just  as  a  time  comes  when 
he  wants  a  wife;  and    Harry's  dog  was  dead.      By 


^^% 


Ridiculous,    sir,    at  the  figger  of  two   hundred   and  fifty!" 


AN  ASSISTED   PROVIDENCE  173 

consequence,  Harry  was  in  the  state  of  sensitive 
affection  and  desolation  to  which  a  promising 
new  object  makes  the  most  moving  appeal.  The 
departed  dog  (Bruce  by  name)  had  been  a  Saint 
Bernard;  and  Deacon  Hurst  found  one  of  the 
puppies  to  have  so  much  the  expression  of  coun- 
tenance of  the  late  Bruce  that  he  named  him 
Bruce  on  the  spot — a  little  before  Harry  joined 
the  group.  Harry  did  not  at  first  recognize  this 
resemblance,  but  he  grew  to  see  it ;  and,  com- 
bined with  the  dog's  affectionate  disposition,  it 
softened  his  heart.  By  the  time  he  told  his 
mother  he  was  come  to  quoting  Hurst's  adjec- 
tives as  his  own. 

"  Beauties,  mother,"  says  Harry,  with  sparkling 
eyes;  "the  markings  are  perfect — couldn't  be- 
better;  and  their  heads  are  shaped  just  right! 
You  can't  get  such  watch-dogs  in  the  world ! 
And,  for  all  their  enormous  strength,  gentle  as  a 
lamb  to  women  and  children  !  And,  mother,  one 
of  them  looks  like  Bruce  !  " 

"  I  suppose  the)'  would  want  to  be  house- 
dogs," says  Mrs.  Lossing,  a  little  dubiously,  but 
looking  fondly  at  Harry's  handsome  face;  "you 
know,  somehow,  all  our  dogs,  no  matter  how 
properly  they  start   in   a  kennel    end   by  being  so 


1 74 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


hurt  if  we  keep  them  there  that  they  come  into 
the  house.  And  they  are  so  large,  it  is  like  hav- 
ing a  pet  lion  ab< nit." 

14  These  dogs,  mother,  shall  never  put  a  paw  in 
the  house." 

••  Well,  I  hope  just  as  I  get  fond  of  them  they 
will  not  have  the  distemper  and  die!"  said  Mrs. 
Lossing ;  which  speech  Harry  rightly  took  for  the 
white   flag  of  surrender. 

That  evening  he  went  to  find  Hurst  and  clinch 
the  bargain.  As  it  happened,  Hurst  was  away, 
driving  an  especially  important  political  person- 
age to  an  especially  important  political  council. 
The  day  following  was  a  Sunday;  but,  by  this 
time,  Harry  was  so  bent  upon  obtaining  the  dogs 
that  he  had  it  in  mind  to  go  to  Hurst's  house  for 
them  in  the  afternoon.  When  Harry  wants  any- 
thing, from  Saint  Bernards  to  purity  in  politics, 
he  wants  it  with  an  irresistible  impetus!  If  he 
did  wrong,  his  error  was  linked  to  its  own  punish- 
ment. But  this  is  anticipating,  if  not  presuming; 
I  prefer  to  leave  Harry  Lossing' s  experience  to 
paint  its  own  moral  without  pushing.  The  event 
that  happened  next  was  Harry's  pulling  out  his 
check-book  and  beginning  to  write  a  check,  re- 
marking,   with    a    slight    drooping    of    his    eyelids, 


AN  ASSISTED  PROVIDENCE  I/~5 

"  Best  catch  the  deacon's  generosity  on  the  fly,  or 
it  may  make  a  home   run  !  " 

Then  he  let  the  pen  fall  on  the  blotter,  for  he 
had  remembered  the  da)-.  After  an  instant's 
hesitation  he  took  a  couple  of  hundred-dollar 
bank-notes  out  of  a  drawer  (I  think  the}'  were 
gifts  for  his  two  sisters  on  Christmas  da}',  for  he 
is  a  generous  brother;  and  most  likely  there 
would  be  some  small  domestic  joke  about  engrav- 
ings to  go  with  them);  these  he  placed  in  the 
right-hand  pocket  of  his  waistcoat.  In  his  left- 
hand  waistcoat  pocket  were  two  five-dollar  notes. 

Harry  was  now  arrayed  for  church.  lie  was  a 
figure  to  please  an}-  woman's  eye,  thought  his 
mother,  as  she  walked  beside  him,  and  gloried 
silently  in  his  six  feet  of  health  and  muscle  and 
dainty  cleanliness.  He  was  in  a  most  amiable 
mood,  what  with  the  Saint  Bernards  and  the  sea- 
son. As  they  approached  the  cathedral  close, 
Harry,  not  for  the  first  time,  admired  the  pure 
Gothic  lines  of  the  cathedral,  and  the  soft  blend- 
ing of  grays  in  the  stone  with  the  warmer  hues 
of  the  brown  network  of  Virginia  creeper  that 
still  fluttered,  a  remnant  of  the  crimson  adornings 
of  autumn.  Beyond  were  the  bare,  square  out- 
lines   of    the  old  college,  with    a   wooden    cupola 


i;0  STORIES   01    A    WESTERN    TOWN 

perched  on  the  roof,  like  a  little  hat  on  a  fat 
man,  the  dull-red  tints  of  the  professors'  houses, 
and  the  withered  lawns  and  bare  trees.  The 
turrets  and  balconies  and  arched  windows  of  the 
boys'  school  displayed  a  red  background  for  a 
troop  of  gray  uniforms  and  blazing  buttons;  the 
boys  were  forming  to  march  to  church.  Opposite 
the  boys'  school  stood  the  modest  square  brick 
house  that  had  served  the  first  bishop  of  the 
diocese  during  laborious  years.  Now  it  was  the 
dean's  residence.  Facing  it,  just  as  you  ap- 
proached the  cathedral,  the  street  curved  into  a 
half-circle  on  either  side,  and  in  the  centre  the 
granite  soldier  on  his  shaft  looked  over  the  city 
that  would  honor  him.  Harry  saw  the  tall  figure 
of  the  dean  come  out  of  his  gate,  the  long  black 
skirts  of  his  cassock  fluttering  under  the  wind  of 
his  big  steps.  Beside  him  skipped  and  ran,  to 
keep  step  with  him,  a  little  man  in  ill-fitting  black, 
of  whose  appearance,  thus  viewed  from  the  rear, 
one  could  only  observe  stooping  shoulders  and 
iron-gray  hair  that  curled  at  the  ends. 

"lie  must  be  the  poor  missionary  who  built 
his  church  himself,"  Mrs.  Lossing  observed  ;  "  he- 
is  not  much  of  a  preacher,  the  dean  said,  but  he- 
is  a   great  worker  and  a  good  pastor." 


Beside  him  skipped  a  little  man   in   ill-fitting  b'acU. 


AN  ASSISTED   PROVIDENCE  1/9 

"  So  much  the  better  for  his  people,  and  the 
worse  for  us  !  "  says  Harry,  cheerfully. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Naturally.  We  shall  get  the  poor  sermon  and 
they  will  get  the  good  pastoring ! 

Then  Harry  caught  sight  of  a  woman's  frock 
and  a  profile  that  he  knew,  and  thought  no  more 
of  the   preacher,   whoever  he  might  be. 

But  he  was  in  the  chancel  in  plain  view,  after 
the  procession  of  choir-boys  had  taken  their  seats. 
He  was  an  elderly  man  with  thin  cheeks  and  a 
large  nose.  He  had  one  of  those  great,  orotund 
voices  that  occasionally  roll  out  of  little  men, 
and  he  read  the  service  with  a  misjudged  effort 
to  fill  the  building.  The  building  happened  to 
have  peculiarly  fine  acoustic  properties  ;  but  the 
unfortunate  man  roared  like  him  of  Bashan. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  customary  ecclesiasti- 
cal dignity  and  monotony  about  his  articulation  ; 
indeed,  it  grew  plain  and  plainer  to  Harry  that 
he  must  have  "  come  over  "  from  some  franker 
and  more  emotional  denomination.  It  seemed 
quite  out  of  keeping  with  his  homely  manner 
and  crumpled  surplice  that  this  particular  reader 
should  intone.  Intone,  nevertheless,  he  did  ;  and 
as  badly  as  mortal  man  well   could  !     It  was  not 


iSo 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


so  much  that  his  voice  or  his  car  went  wrong; 
he  would  have  had  a  musical  voice  of  the  heavy 
sort,  had  he  not  bellowed;  neither  did  his  ear 
betray  him;  the  trouble  seemed  to  be  that  he 
could  not  decide  when  to  begin;  now  he  began 
ton  early,  and  again,  with  a  startled  air,  he  began 
too    late,    as    if   he    had    forgotten. 

"  1  hope  he  will  not  preach,"  thought  Harry, 
who  was  absorbed  in  a  rapt  contemplation  of  his 
sweetheart's  back  hair.  He  came  back'  from  a 
tender  revery  (by  way  of  a  little  detour  into  the 
furniture  business  and  the  establishment  th.it  a 
man  of  his  income  could  afford)  to  the  church  and 
the  preacher  and  his  own  sins,  to  find  the  strange 
clergyman  in  the  pulpit,  plainly  frightened,  and 
bawling  more  loudly  than  ever  under  the  influence 
ol  fear,  lie  preached  a  sermon  of  wearisome 
platitudes;  making  up  for  lack  of  thought  by 
repetition,  and  shouting  himself  red  in  the  face 
to  express  earnestness.  "  Fourth-class  Methodist 
effort,"  thought  the  listener  in  the  Lossing  pew, 
stroking  his  fair  mustache,  "  with  Episcopal  deco- 
rations !  That  man  used  to  be  a  Methodist  min- 
ister, and  he  was  brought  into  the  fold  by  a  high- 
churchman.  Poor  fellow,  the  Methodist  church 
polity  has  a  place   for  such   fellows  as  he;   but  he 


AN  ASSISTED   PROVIDENCE  [8l 

is  a  stray  sheep  with  us.  He  doesn't  half  catch 
on  to  the  motions;  yet  I'll  warrant  he  is  proud  of 
that  sermon,  and  his  wife  thinks  it  one  of  the 
great  efforts  of  the  century."  Here  Harry  took 
a  short  rest  from  the  sermon,  to  contemplate  the 
amazing  moral  phenomenon  :  how  robust  can  be 
a  wife's   faith   in   a  commonplace  husband  ! 

"  Now,  this  man,"  reflected  Harry,  growing 
interested  in  his  own  fancies,  "this  man  never 
can  have  lived!  He  doesn't  know  what  it  is  to 
suffer,  he  has  only  vegetated !  Doubtless,  in  a 
prosaic  way,  he  loves  his  wife  and  children  ;  but 
can  a  fellow  who  talks  like  him  have  any  deli- 
cate sympathies  or  any  romance  about  him  ?  He 
looks  honest  ;  I  think  he  is  a  right  good  fellow 
and  works  like  a  soldier;  but  to  be  so  stupid  as 
he  is,   ought   to  hurt!" 

Harn-  felt  a  whimsical  moving  of  sympathy 
towards  the  preacher.  lie  wondered  why  he  con- 
tinually made  gestures  with  the  left  arm,  never 
with  his  right. 

"  It  gives  a  one-sided  effect  to  his  eloquence," 
said  he.  But  he  thought  that  he  understood 
when  an  unguarded  movement  revealed  a  rent 
which  had  been  a  mended  place  in  the  surplice. 

"  Poor   fellow,"   said    Harry.      He  recalled  how, 


IS2 


STORIES   OF   .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


as  a  boy,  he  had  gone  to  a  fancy-dress  ball  in 
Continental  smallclothes,  so  small  that  he  had 
been  strictly  cautioned  by  his  mother  and  sisters 
not  to  bow  except  with  the  greatest  care,  lest  he 
rend  his  magnificence  ami  reveal  that  it  was  too 
tight  to  allow  an  inch  of  underclothing.  The 
stockings,  in  particular,  had  been  short,  and  his 
sister  had  providently  sewed  them  on  to  the 
knee-breeches,  and  to  guard  against  accidents  still 
further,  had  pinned  as  well  as  sewed,  the  pins 
causing   Harry  much   anguish. 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Harry  again,  "I  wonder 
is //<•  pinned  somewhere?  I  feel  like  giving  him 
a  lift  ;  he  is  so  prosy  it  isn't  likely  anyone  else 
will   feel   moved   to   help." 

Thus  it  came  about  that  when  the  dean  an- 
nounced that  the  .dins  this  day  would  be  given  to 
the  parish  of  Our  friend  who  had  just  addressed 
us  ;  ami  the  plate  paused  before  the  Lossing  pew, 
Harry  slipped  his  hand  into  his  waistcoat  pocket 
after  those  two  five-dollar  notes. 

I  should  explain  th.it  Harry  being  a  naturally 
left-handed  boy,  who  has  laboriously  taught  him- 
self the  use  of  his  right  hand,  it  is  a  family  joke 
that  he  is  like  the  inhabitants  of  Nineveh,  who 
could    not    tell    their   right    hand    from    their   left. 


A  N  ASSISTED    PROVIDENCE  I  S3 

But  Harry  himself  has  always  maintained  that  he 
can  tell  as  well  as  the  next  man. 

Out  drifted  the  flock  of  choirboys  singing, 
"  For  thee,  oh  dear,  dear  country,"  and  presently, 
following  them,  out  drifted  the  congregation  ; 
among  the  crowd  the  girl  that  Harry  loved,  not 
so  quickly  that  he  had  not  time  for  a  look  and  a 
smile  (just  tinged  with  rose)  ;  and  because  she  was 
so  sweet,  so  good,  so  altogether  adorable,  and 
because  she  had  not  only  smiled  but  blushed,  and, 
unobserved,  he  had  touched  the  fur  of  her  jacket, 
the  young  man  walked  on  air. 

He  did  not  remember  the  Saint  Bernards  until 
after  the  early  Sunday  dinner,  and  during  the 
after-dinner  cigar.  He  was  sitting  in  the  library, 
before  some  blazing  logs,  at  peace  with  all  the 
world.  To  him,  thus,  came  his  mother  and  an- 
nounced that  the  dean  and  "  that  man  who 
preached  this  morning,  you  know,"  were  waiting 
in  the  other  room. 

"  They  seem  excited,"  said  she,  "  and  talk 
about  your  munificence.  What  have  you  been 
doing  ?  " 

"  Appear  to  make  a  great  deal  of  fuss  over  ten 
dollars,"  said  Harry,  lightly,  as  he  sauntered  out 
of  the  door. 


1 84 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


The  dean  greeted  him  with  something  almost 
like  contusion  in  his  cordiality;  he  introduced  his 
companion  as  the   Rev.   Mr.  Gilling. 

"Mr.    Gilling    could    not     feel    easy    until    he 

had " 

"Made  sure  about  there  being  no  mistake," 
interrupted  Mr.  Gilling;  "  I — the  sum  was  so 
great 

A  ghastly  suspicion  shot  like  a  fever-flush  over 
Harry's  mind.  Could  it  be  possible  ?  There  were 
the  two  other  bills;  could  he  have  given  one  of 
them.'"  Given  that  howling  dervish  a  hundred 
dollars?     The  thought   was  too  awful  ! 

"  It  was  really  not  enough  for  you  to  trouble 
yourself,"  he  said  ;  "  I  dare  say  you  are  thanking 
the  wrong  man."      lie  felt  he  must  say  something. 

To  his  surprise  the  dean  colored,  while  the 
other  clergyman  answered,  in  all  simplicity  : 

"No,  sir,  no,  sir.  I  know  very  well.  The  only 
other  lull,  except  dollars,  on  the  plate,  the  dean 
here  gave,  and  the  warden  remembers  that  you 
put  in  two  notes — I  " —  he  grew  quite  pale — "I 
can't  help  thinking  you  maybe  intended  to  put 
in  only  one  !  "  His  voice  broke,  he  tried  to  con- 
trol it.  "  The  sum  is  so  very  large  !  "  quavered 
he. 


AN  ASSISTED   PROVIDENCE  1 85 

"  I  have  given  him  both  bills,  two  hundred 
dollars!"  thought  Harry.  lie  sat  down.  He 
was  accustomed  to  read  men's  faces,  and  plainly 
as  ever  he  had  read,  he  could  read  the  signs  of 
distress  and  conflict  on  the  prosaic,  dull  features 
before  him. 

"  I  intended  to  put  in  two  bills,"  said  he.  Gil- 
ling  gave  a  little  gasp— so  little,  only  a  quick  ear 
could  have  caught  it  ;  but  Harry's  ear  is  quick. 
He  twisted  one  leg  around  the  other,  a  further 
sign  of  deliverance   of  mind. 

"  Well,  sir,  well,  Mr.  Lossing,"  he  remarked, 
clearing  his  throat,  "  I  cannot  express  to  you 
properl)'  the — the  appreciation  I  have  of  your— 
your  princely  gift !  "  (Harry  changed  a  groan  into 
a  cough  and  tried  to  smile.)  "  I  would  like  to 
ask  you,  however,  how  you  would  like  it  to  be 
divided.  There  are  a  number  of  worthy  causes  : 
the  furnishing  of  the  church,  which  is  in  charge 
of  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society  ;  they  are  very  hard 
workers,  the  ladies  of  our  church.  And  there  is 
the  Altar  Guild,  which  has  the  keeping  of  the 
altar  in  order.  They  are  mostly  young  girls, 
and  they  used  to  wash  my  things — I  mean  the 
vestments  "  (blushing) — "  but  they— they  were  so 
young  they  were  not  careful,  and  my  wife  thought 


1 86  STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 

she  had  best  wash  the  vestments  herself,  but  she 
allowed  them  to  laundry  the  other — ah,  things." 
There  was  the  same  discursiveness  in  his  talk  as 
in  his  sermon,  Harry  thought;  and  the  same 
uneasy  restlessness  of  manner.  "Then,  we  give 
tn — various  causes,  and-  and  there  is,  also,  my 
own  salary " 


"That  is  what  it  was  intended  for,"  said  Harry. 
"  I  hope  the  two  hundred  dollars  will  be  ^{  some 
use  to  you,  and  then,  indirectly,  it  will  help  your 
church." 

Harry  surprised  a  queer  glance  from  the  dean's 
hiown  eyes;  there  was  both  humor  and  a  some- 
thing else  that  was  solemn  enough  in  it.  The 
dean  had  believed  that  there  was  a  mistake. 

"  All  of  it  !     To  me  !  "  cried  Gilling. 

"All  of  it.  To  you"  Harry  replied,  dryly.  He 
was  conscious  of  the  dean's  gaze  upon  him.  "  I 
had  a  sudden  impulse,"  said  he,  "  and  1  gave  it  ; 
that    is   all." 

The  tears  rose  to  the  clergyman's  eyes  ;  he- 
tried  to  wink  them  away,  then  he  tried  to  brush 
them  away  with  a  quick  rub  of  his  fingers,  then 
he  sprang  up  and  walked  to  the  window,  his  back 
to  Harry.  Directly  he  was  facing  the  young  man 
again,  and  speaking. 


AM  ASSISTED   PROVIDENCE  187 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Mr.  Lossing;  since  my 
sickness  a  little  thing  upsets  me." 

"  Mr.  Gilling  had  diphtheria  last  spring,"  the 
dean  struck  in,  "there  was  an  epidemic  of  diph- 
theria in  Matin's  Junction  ;  Mr.  Gilling  really 
saved  the  place;  but  his  wife  and  he  both  con- 
tracted the  disease,  and  his  wife  nearly  died." 

Harry  remembered  some  story  that  he  had 
heard  at  the  time — his  eyes  began  to  light  up  as 
they  do  when  he  is  moved. 

"  Why,  you  are  the  man  that  made  them  dis- 
infect their  houses,"  cried  he,  "and  invented  a 
little  oven  or  something  to  steam  mattresses  and 
things.  You  are  the  man  that  nursed  them  and 
buried  them  when  the  undertaker  died.  You 
digged  graves  with  your  own  hands — I  say,  I 
should  like  to  shake  hands  with  you  !  " 

Gilling  shook  hands,  submissively,  but  looking 
bewildered. 

He  cleared  his  throat.  "  Would  you  mind,  Mr. 
Lossing,  if  I  took  up  your  time  so  far  as  to  tell 
you  what  so  overcame  me  ? " 

"  I   should  be  glad " 

"  You  see,  sir,  my  wife  was  the  daughter  of 
the  Episcopal  minister — I  mean  the  rector,  at  the 
town — well,  it  wasn't  a  town,  it  was  two  or  three 


188  STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 

towns  off  in  Shelby  County  where  I  had  my  cir- 
cuit. You  maybe  surprised,  sir,  to  know  that  I 
was  once  a   Methodist    minister." 


Invented   a   little   ovph   oi    something   to   steam    mattresses    ind   tl 


"Is  it   possible?"    said    Harry. 
"Yes,   sir.      Her   father  -my    wife's,    I    mean — 
was  about   as  high  a  churchman   as  he  could  be, 


AN  ASSISTED   PROVIDENCE  I  89 

and  be  married.  He  induced  me  to  join  our  com- 
munion ;  and  very  soon  after  I  was  married.  I 
hope,  Mr.  Lossing,  you'll  come  and  sec  us  some 
time,  and  see  my  wife.     She — are  you  married?" 

"  I  am  not  so  fortunate." 

"  A  good  wife  cometh  from  the  Lord,  sir,  sure  / 
I  thought  I  appreciated  mine,  but  I  guess  I  didn't. 
She  had  two  things  she  wanted,  and  one  I  did 
want  myself;  but  the  other — I  couldn't  seem  to 
bring  my  mind  to  it,  no — anyhow!  We  hadn't 
any  children  but  one  that  died  four  years  ago,  a 
little  baby.  Ever  since  she  died  my  wife  has  had 
a  longing  to  have  a  stained-glass  window,  with  the 
picture,  you  know,  of  Christ  blessing  little  chil- 
dren, put  into  our  little  church.  In  Memoriam, 
you  know.  Seems  as  if,  now  we've  lost  the  baby, 
we  think  all  the  more  of  the  church.  Maybe  she 
was  a  sort  of  idol  to  us.  Yes,  sir,  that's  one  thing 
my  wife  fairly  longed  for.  We've  saved  our  money, 
what  we  could  save  ;  there  are  so  many  calls;  dur- 
ing the  sickness,  last  winter,  the  sick  needed  so 
many  things,  and  it  didn't  seem  right  for  us  to 
neglect  them  just  for  our  baby's  window ;  and— 
the  money  went.  The  other  thing  was  different. 
My  wife  has  got  it  into  her  head  I  have  a  fine 
voice.     And   she's   higher   church    than    lam;  so 


190 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOli'X 


she  has  always  wanted  me  to  intone.  I  told  her 
I'd  look  like  a  fool  intoning,  and  there's  no  mis- 
take about  it,  I  do!  But  she  couldn't  see  it  that 
way.  It  was  'most  the  only  point  wherein  we 
differed  ;  and  last  spring,  when  she  was  so  sick, 
and  1  didn't  know  but  I'd  lose  her,  it  was  dread- 
ful to  me  to  think  how  I'd  crossed  her.  So,  Mr. 
Lossing,  when  she  got  well  1  promised  her,  for  a 
thank-offering,  I'd  intone.  And  1  have  ever  since. 
My  people  know  me  so  well,  and  we've  been 
through  so  much  together,  that  the)-  didn't  make 
any  fuss— though  the}-  are  not  high — fact  is,  I'm 
not  high  myself.  But  they  were  kind  and  con- 
siderate, and  1  got  on  pretty  well  at  home  ;  but 
when  1  came  to  rise  up  in  that  great  edifice,  be- 
fore that  cultured  and  intellectual  audience,  so 
finely  dressed,  it  did  seem  to  me  I  could  not  do 
it!  I  was  sorely  tempted  t<>  break  my  promise. 
I  was,  for  a  fact."  He  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I 
just  had  to  pray  for  grace,  or  I  newer  would  have 
pulled  through.  I  had  the  sermon  my  wife  likes 
best  with  me;  but  I  know  it  lacks — it  lacks — it 
isn't  what  you  need  !  I  was  dreadfully  scared  and 
I  felt  miserable  when  I  got  up  to  preach  it — and 
then  to  think  that  you  were  —  but  it  is  the  Lord's 
doing  and  marvellous  in  our  eves  !      I  don't   know 


AN   ASSISTED   PROVIDENCE  191 

what  Maggie  will  say  when  I  tell  her  we  can  get 
the  window.  The  best  she  hoped  was  I'd  bring 
back  enough  so  the  church  could  pay  me  eighteen 
dollars  they  owe  on  my  salary.  And  now — it's 
wonderful!  Why,  Mr.  Lossing,  I've  been  think- 
ing so  much  and  wanting  so  to  get  that  window 
for  her,  that,  hearing  the  dean  wanted  some  car- 
pentering done,  I  thought  maybe,  as  I'm  a  fair 
carpenter — that  was  my  trade  once,  sir — I'd  ask 
him  to  let  me  do  the  job.  I  was  aware  there  is 
nothing  in  our  rules — I  mean  our  canons — to  pre- 
vent me,  and  nobody  need  know  I  was  the  rector 
of  Matin's  Junction,  because  I  would  come  just  in 
my  overalls.  There  is  a  cheap  place  where  I  could 
lodge,  and  I  could  feed  myself  for  almost  nothing, 
living  is  so  cheap.  I  was  praying  about  that,  too. 
Now,  your  noble  generosity  will  enable  me  to 
donate  what  they  owe  on  my  salary,  and  get  the 
window  too  !  " 

"  Take  my  advice,"  said  Harry,  "  donate  noth- 
ing. Say  nothing  about  this  gift  ;  I  will  take  care 
of  the  warden,  and   I   can  answer  for  the  dean." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  dean,  "  on  the  whole,  Gilling, 
you  would  better  say  nothing,  I  think  ;  Mr.  Los- 
sing is  more  afraid  of  a  reputation  for  generosity 
than   of  the  small-pox." 


Mj2  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

The  older  man   looked  at  Harry  with  glistening 
eyes   of  admiration;   with   what    Christian   virtues 


"I    do   believe   it    was   better    than    the   puppies." 

of    humility   he   was   endowing   that    embarrassed 
young  man,  it   is  painful   to   imagine. 


AN   ASSISTED   PROVIDENCE  1 93 

The  dean's  eyes  twinkled  above  his  handker- 
chief, which  hid  his  mouth,  as  lie  rose  to  make  his 
farewells.  He  shook  hands,  warmly.  "  God  bless 
you,  Harry,"  said  he.  Gilling,  too,  wrung  Harry's 
hands  ;  he  was  seeking  some  parting  word  of  grati- 
tude, but  he  could  only  choke  out,  "I  hope  you 
will  get  married  some  time,  Mr.  Lossing,  then 
you'll    understand." 

"Well,"  said  Harry,  as  the  door  closed,  and  he 
flung  out  his  arms  and  his  chest  in  a  huge  sigh, 
"I  do  believe  it  was  better  than  the  puppies!" 
13 


H\RRY  LOSSING 

THE  note-book  of  Mr.  Horatio  Armorer,  presi- 
dent "I  our  street  railways,  contained  a 
page  tit  interest  to  some  people  in  our  town,  on 
the  occasion   of  his   last  -visit. 

He  wrote  it  while  the  train  creaked  over  the 
river,  and  the  porter  of  his  Pullman  car  was 
brushing  all  the  dust  that  had  been  distributed 
on   the   passengers'  clothing,   into  the  main   aisle. 

If  you  had  seen  him  writing  it  (with  a  stubby 
little  pencil  that  he  occasionally  brightened  with 
tlie  tip  of  his  tongue),  you  would  not  have 
dreamed  him  to  be  more  profoundly  disturbed 
than  he  had  been  in  years.  Nor  would  the  page 
itself  have   much   enlightened  you. 

"  See  abt  road  Jf  D- 
See  L 
Sec  E  &  J/  tea-set 

See  abt   L." 

Translated    into    long-hand,    this    reads:     "See 


HARRY  LOSSING  1 95 

about  the  street-car  road,  Marston  (the  superin- 
tendent) and  Dane  (the  lawyer).  See  Lossing, 
see  Esther  and  Maggie,  and  remember  about 
tea-set.     See  about   Lossing." 

His  memoranda  written,  he  slipped  the  book  in 
his  pocket,  reflecting  cynically,  "  There's  habit  ! 
I've  no  need  of  writing  that.  It's  not  pleasant 
enough  to  forget  !  " 

Thirty  odd  years  ago,  Horatio  Armorer — they 
called  him  'Raish,  then — had  left  the  town  to 
seek  his  fortune  in  Chicago.  It  was  his  day- 
dream to  wrestle  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  out 
of  the  world's  tight  fists,  and  return  to  live  in 
pomp  on  Brady  Street  hill  !  He  should  drive  a 
buggy  with  two  horses,  and  his  wife  should  keep 
two  girls.  Long  ago,  the  hundred  thousand  limit 
had  been  reached  and  passed,  next  the  million  ; 
and  still  he  did  not  return.  His  father,  the  Pres- 
byterian minister,  left  his  parish,  or,  to  be  exact-, 
was  gently  propelled  out  of  his  parish  by  the 
disaffected  ;  the  family  had  a  new  home  ;  and  the 
son,  struggling  to  help  them  out  of  his  scanty 
resources,  went  to  the  new  parish  and  not  to  the 
old.  He  grew  rich,  he  established  his  brothers 
and  sisters  in  prosperity,  he  erected  costly  monu- 
ments and  a  memorial  church  to  his  parents  (they 


196 


STORIES    OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


were  beyond  any  other  gifts  from  him);  he  mar- 
ried, and  lavished   his  money  on  three  daughters; 

but  the  home  oi  his  youth  neither  saw  him  nor 
his  money  until  Margaret  Ellis  bought  a  house  on 
Brady  Street,  far  up  town,  where  she  could  have 
all  the  grass  that  she  wanted.  Mrs.  Ellis  was  a 
widow  and  rich.  Not  a  millionaire  like  her 
brother,  but  the  possessor  of  a  handsome  prop- 
erty. 

She  was  the  best-natured  woman  in  the  world, 
and  never  guessed  how  hard  her  neighbors  found 
it  to  forgive  her  for  always  calling  their  town  of 
thirty  thousand  souls,  "the  country."  She  said 
that  she  had  pined  for  years  to  live  in  the 
country,  and  have  horses,  and  a  jersey  cow  and 
chickens,  anil  "  a  neat  pig."  All  of  which  modest 
cravings  she  gratified  on  her  little  estate  ;  and  the 
gardener  was  often  seen  with  a  scowl  and  the 
garden   hose,   keeping  the   pig   neat. 

It  was  later  that  Mr.  Armorer  had  bought  the 
street  railways,  they  having  had  a  troublous  his- 
tory and  being  for  sale  cheap.  Nobody  that 
knows  Armorer  as  a  business  man  would  back  his 
sentiment  by  so  much  as  an  old  shoe;  yet  it  was 
sentiment,  and  not  a  good  bargain,  that  had  en- 
ticed  the   financier.     Once  engaged,  the  instincts 


ffARRY  LOSSING 


I97 


of  a  shrewd  trader  prompted  him  to  turn  it  into  a 
good  bargain,  anyhow.      His  fancy  was  pleased  by 


*  >*" 


■  1 


^5^^**} 


. 


0  1 


1  k   %x 


Keeping  the   pig   neat. 


a  vision  of  a  return  to  the  home  of  his  childhood 
and  his  struggling  youth,  as  a  greater  personage 
than  his  hopes  had  ever  dared  promise. 


i98 


STORIES   OF  A     WESTEK  V    TOWN 


But,  in  the  event,  there  was  little  enough 
gratification  for  his  vanity.  Not  since  his  wife's 
death  had  he  been  so  harassed  and  anxious;  for 
he  came  not  in  order  to  view  his  new  property, 
but  because  his  sister  had  written  him  her  suspi- 
cions that  Harry  Lossing  wanted  to  marry  his 
yi  »ungest  daughter. 

Armorer  arrived  in  the  early  dawn.  Early  .is  it 
was,  .1  handsome  victoria,  with  horses  sleeker  of 
skin  and  harness  heavier  and  brighter  than  one  is 
used  to  meet  outside  the  great  cities,  had  been  in 
waiting  for  twenty  minutes;  while  for  that  space 
of  time  a  pretty  girl  had  paced  up  and  down  the 
platform.  The  keenest  observer  among  the 
crowd,  airing  its  meek  impatience  on  the  plat- 
form, did  not  detect  any  sign  of  anxiety  in  her 
behavior.  She  walked  erect,  with  a  step  that  left 
a  clean-cut  footprint  in  the  dust,  as  girls  are 
trained  to  walk  nowadays.  Her  tailor-made  gown 
of  fine  blue  serge  had  not  a  wrinkle.  It  was  so 
simple  that  only  a  fashionable  woman  could  guess 
anywhere  near  the  awful  sum  total  which  that 
plain  skirt,  that  short  jacket,  and  that  severe 
waistcoat  had  once  made  on  a  ruled  sheet  of 
paper.  When  she  turned  her  face  toward  the  low, 
red  station-house  and  the  people,  it  looked  gentle, 


HARRY   LOSSfXG  1 99 

and  the  least  in  the  world  sad.  She  had  one  of 
those  clear  olive  skins  that  easily  grow  pale; 
it  was  pale  to-day.  Her  black  hair  was  fine  as 
spun  silk;  the  coil  under  her  hat-brim  shone  as 
she  moved.  The  fine  hair,  the  soft,  transparent 
skin,  and  the  beautiful  marking  of  her  brows  were 
responsible  for  an  air  of  fragile  daintiness  in  her 
person,  just  as  her  almond-shaped,  liquid  dark 
eyes  and  unsmiling  mouth  made  her  look  sad.  It 
was  a  most  attractive  face,  in  all  its  moods;  some- 
times it  was  a  beautiful  face;  yet  it  did  not  have 
a  single  perfect  feature  except  the  mouth,  which 
— at  least  so  Harry  Lossing  told  his  mother — 
might  have  been  stolen  from  the  Venus  of  Milo. 
Even  the  mouth,  some  critics  called  too  small  for 
her  nose  ;  but  it  is  as  easy  to  call  her  nose  too 
large  for  her  mouth. 

The  instant  she  turned  her  back  on  the  bustle 
of  the  station,  all  the  lines  in  her  face  seemed  to 
waver  and  the  eyes  to  brighten.  Finally,  when 
the  train  rolled  up  to  the  platform  and  a  young- 
looking  elderly  man  swung  himself  nimbly  off  the 
steps,  the  color  flared  up  in  her  cheeks,  only  to 
sink  as  suddenly;  like  a  candle  flame  in  a  gust  of 
wind. 

Mr.  Armorer  put  his  two  arms  and  his  umbrella 


200  STORIES    <>/■      I    WESTERN    TOWN 


and  travelling-bag  about  the  charming  shape  in 
blue,  at  the  same  time  exclaiming,  "You're  a 
good   girl   to  come  out   so  early,    Essie!       How's 

Aunt  Meg  ?  " 

"Oh,  very  well.  She  would  have  come  too,  but 
she  hasn't  come  back  from  training." 

"  Training  ? 

'•  Yes,  dear,  she  has  a  regular  trainer,  like  John 
L.  Sullivan,  you  know.  She  drives  out  to  the 
park  with  Eliza  and  me,  and  walks  and  tains  races, 
and  does  gymnastics.     She   has   lost  ten  pounds." 

Armorer  wagged  his  head  with  a  grin  :  "  I  dare 
say.  1  thought  so  when  you  began.  Meg  is 
always  moaning  and  groaning  because  she  isn't  a 
sylph  !  She  will  make  her  cook's  life  a  burden  for 
about  two  months  and  lose  ten  pounds,  and  then 
she  will  revel  in  ice-cream  !  Last  time,  she  was 
raving  about  Dr.  Salisbury  and  living  on  beef- 
steak sausages,  spending  a  fortune  starving 
herself." 

"She  had  Dr.  Salisbury's  pamphlet;  but 
Cardigan  told  her  it  was  a  long  way  out  ;  so  she 
said  she  hated  to  have  it  do  no  one  any  good,  and 
she  gave  it  to  Maria,  one  of  the  maids,  who  is 
always  fretting  because  she  is  so  thin." 

"  But  the  thing  was  to  cure  fat  people  !  " 


1 '  A   Regular  Trainer.' 


HARRY  LOS  SING  203 

"  Precisely."  Esther  laughed  a  little  low  laugh, 
at  which  her  father's  eyes  shone  ;  "  but  you  see 
she  told  Maria  to  exactly  reverse  the  advice  and 
eat  everything  that  was  injurious  to  stout  people, 
and  it  would  be  just  right  for  her." 

"  I  perceive,"  said  Armorer,  dryly  ;  "  very 
ingenious  and  feminine  scheme.  But  who  is 
Cardigan  ?  " 

"  Shuey  Cardigan?  He  is  the  trainer.  He  is  a 
fireman  in  a  furniture  shop,  now  ;  but  he  used  to 
be  the  boxing  teacher  for  some  Harvard  men ; 
and  he  was  a  distinguished  pugilist,  once.  He 
said  to  me,  modestly,  '  I  don't  suppose  you  will 
have  seen  my  name  in  the  Police  Gazette,  miss?' 
But  he  really  is  a  very  sober,  decent  man, 
notwithstanding." 

"  Your  Aunt  Meg  always  was  picking  up  queer 
birds  !  Pray,  who  introduced  this  decent  pugil- 
ist ?  " 

Esther  was  getting  into  the  carriage  ;  her  face 
was  turned  from  him,  but  lie  could  see  the  pink 
deepen  in  her  ear  and  the  oval  of  her  cheek.  She 
answered  that  it  was  a  friend  of  theirs,  Mr.  Loss- 
ing.  As  if  the  name  had  struck  them  both  dumb, 
neither  spoke  for  a  few  moments.  Armorer  bit  a 
sigh   in  two.     "  Essie,"  said  he,  "  I   guess  it  is  no 


204 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


use  to  side-track  the  subject.  You  know  why  I 
came  here,  clou  t  you  ? " 

"Aunt    Meg  told   me  what   she  wrote  to  you." 

"  I  knew  she  would.  She  had  compunctions  of 
conscience  letting  him  hang  round  you,  until  she 
told  mc ;  and  then  she  had  awful  gripes  because 
she    had    told,  and    had    to   confess    to    you!" 

lie  continued  in  a  different  tone:  "  Kssic,  I 
have  missed  your  mother  a  long  while,  and 
nobody  know-,  how  that  kind  of  missing  hurts; 
hut  it  seems  to  me  1  never  missed  her  as  I  do 
to-day.  I  need  her  to  advise  me  about  you,  Essie. 
It  is  like  this:  I  don't  want  to  be  a  stern  parent 
any  more  than  you  want  to  elope,  on  a  rope  lad- 
der. We  have  got  to  look  at  this  thing  together, 
my  dear  little  girl,  and  try  to  -to  trust  each 
other." 

"Don't  you  think,  papa,"  said  Esther,  smiling 
rather  tremulously,  "  that  we  would  better  wait, 
before  we  have  all  these  solemn  preparations, 
until  we  know  surely  whether  Mr.  Lossing  wants 
m  e  ?  " 

"Don't  you  know  surely?" 

"lie    has    never    said    anything    of — of    that — 


"Oh,    he    is    in    love    with    vou    fast    enough," 


HARRY  LOSSING  20$ 

growled  Armorer  ;  but  a  smile  of  intense  relief 
brightened  his  face.  "  Now,  you  see,  my  dear,  all 
I  know  about  this  young  man,  except  that  he 
wants  my  daughter — which  you  will  admit  is  not 
likely  to  prejudice  me  in  his  favor — is  that  he  is 
mayor  of  this  town  and  has  a  furniture  store — 
"  A  manufactory  ;  it  is  a  very  large  business  !  " 
"All  right,  manufactory,  then  ;  all  the  same  he 
is  not  a  brilliant  match  for  my  daughter,  not  such 
a  husband  as  your  sisters  have."  Esther's  lip 
quivered  and  her  color  rose  again  ;  but  she  did 
not  speak.  "  Still  I  will  say  that  I  think  a  fellow 
who  can  make  his  own  fortune  is  better  than  a 
man  with  twice  that  fortune  made  for  him.  My 
dear,  if  Lossing  has  the  right  stuff  in  him  and  he- 
is  a  real  good  fellow,  I  shan't  make  you  go  into  a 
decline  by  objecting;  but  you  see  it  is  a  big  shock 
to  me,  and  you  must  let  me  get  used  to  it.  and 
let  me  size  the  young  man  up  in  my  own  way. 
There  is  another  thing,  Esther ;  I  am  going  to 
Europe  Thursday,  that  will  give  me  just  a  day  in 
Chicago  if  I  go  to-morrow,  and  I  wish  you  would 
come  with   me.     Will  you   mind?" 

Either  she  changed  her  seat  or  she  started  at 
the  proposal.  But  how  could  she  say  that  she 
wanted  to  stay  in  America  with  a  man  who  had 


>of> 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


not   said   a   formal  word   of  love  to  her?     "I  can 
get   ready,    I    think,   papa,"   said    Esther. 

The)r  drove  on.  He  felt  a  crawling  pain  in  his 
heart,  for  he  loved  his  daughter  Esther  as  he  had 
loved  no  other  child  of  his;  ami  he  knew  that  he 
had  hurt  her.  Naturally,  he  grew  the  more  angry 
at  the  impertinent  young  man  who  was  the  cause 
of  the  flitting;  for  the  whole  European  plan  had 
been  cooked  up  since  the  receipt  of  Mrs.  Ellis's 
letter.  They  were  on  the  very  street  down  which 
he  used  to  walk  (for  it  takes  the  line  of  the  hills) 
when  he  was  a  poor  boy,  a  struggling,  ferociously 
ambitious  young  man.  lie  looked  at  the  changed 
rows  of  buildings,  and  other  thoughts  came 
uppermost  for  a  moment.  "  It  was  here  father's 
church  used  to  stand  ,  it's  gone,  now,"  he  said. 
"  It  was  a  wood  church,  painted  a  kind  of  gray; 
mother  had  a  bonnet  the  same  color,  and  she  used 
to  say  she  matched  the  church.  I  bought  it  with 
the  very  first  money  I  earned.  Part  of  it  came 
from  weeding',  and  the  weather  was  warm,  and  I 
can  feel  the  way  my  back  would  sting  and  creak, 
now!  I  would  want  to  stop,  often,  but  I  thought 
of  mother  in  church  with  that  bonnet,  and  I  kept 
on  !  There's  the  place  where  Seeds,  the  grocer 
that   used   to   trust    us,  had    his    store  ;   it   was   his 


HARRY  LOSSING  2QJ 

children  had  the  scarlet  fever,  and  mother  went 
to  nurse  them.  My!  but  how  dismal  it  was  at 
home  !  We  always  got  more  whippings  when 
mother  was  away.  Your  grandfather  was  a  good 
man,  too  honest  for  this  world,  and  he  loved 
every  one  of  his  seven  children  ;  but  he  brought 
us  up  to  fear  him  and  the  Lord.  We  feared  him 
the  most,  because  the  Lord  couldn't  whip  us ! 
He  never  whipped  us  when  we  did  anything,  but 
waited  until  next  day,  that  he  might  not  punish 
in  anger;  so  we  had  all  the  night  to  anticipate  it. 
Did  I  ever  tell  you  of  the  time  he  caught  me  in  a 
lie?  I  was  lame  for  a  week  after  it.  He  never 
caught  me  in  another  lie." 

"  I  think  he  was  cruel  ;  I  can't  help  it,  papa," 
cried  Esther,  with  whom  this  was  an  old  argu- 
ment, "  still  it  did  good,  that  time  !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  he  wasn't  cruel,  my  dear,"  said  Ar. 
morer,  with  a  queer  smile  that  seemed  to  take 
only  one-half  of  his  face,  not  answering  the  last 
words;  "  he  was  too  sure  of  his  interpretation  of 
the  Scripture,  that  was  all.  Why,  that  man  just 
slaved  to  educate  us  children  ;  he'd  have  gone  to 
the  stake  rejoicing  to  have  made  sure  that  we 
should  be  saved.  And  of  the  whole  seven  only 
one  is  a  church  member.      Is  that  the  road?" 


2o8 


STORIES   OJ-    A    WESTERN    TOWN 


They  could  sec  a  car  swinging  past,  on  a  paral- 
lel street,  its  bent  pole  hitching  along  the  trolley- 
wire. 

"  Pretty  scrubby-looking  cars,"  commented  Ar- 
morer; "but  get  our  new  ordinance  through  the 
council,  we  can  save  enough  to  afford  some  fine 
new  cars.  Has  Lossing  said  anything  to  you 
about  the  ordinance  and  our  petition  to  be  al- 
lowed  to   leave  off  the  conductors.'" 

"He  hasn't  said  anything,  but  I  read  about  it 
in  the  papers.  Is  it  so  very  important  that  it 
should    be    passed  ?  " 

"Saving  money  is  always  important,  my  dear," 
said  Armorer,  seriously. 

The  horses  turned  again.  They  were  now  op- 
posite a  fair  lawn  and  a  house  of  wood  and  stone 
built  after  the  old  colonial  pattern,  as  modern 
architects   see   it.      Esther  pointed,   saying: 

"Aunt   Meg's,  papa;  isn't   it   pretty?" 

"  Very  handsome,  very  fine,"  said  the  financier, 
who  knew  nothing  about  architecture,  except  its 
exceeding  expense.  "Esther,  I've  a  notion;  if 
that  young  man  of  yours  has  brains  and  is  fond 
of  you  he  ought  to  be  able  to  get  my  ordinance 
through  his  little  eight  by  ten  city  council.  There 
is  our  chance  to   see  what   stuff  he  is   made   of!" 


HARRY  LOS  SING  -OQ 

"  Oh,  he  has  a  great  deal  of  influence,"  said 
Esther;  "he  can  do  it,  unless — unless  he  thinks 
the  ordinance  would  be  bad  for  the  city,  you 
know." 

"Confound  the  modern  way  of  educating 
girls!"  thought  Armorer.  "  Now,  it  would  have 
been  enough  for  Esther's  mother  to  know  that 
anything  was  for  my  interests  ;  it  wouldn't  have 
to   help    all    out-doors,    too  !  " 

But  instead  of  enlarging  on  this  point,  he  went 
into  a  sketch  of  the  improvements  the  road  could 
make  with  the  money  saved  by  the  change,  and 
was  waxing  eloquent  when  a  lady  of  a  pleasant 
and  comely  face,  and  a  trig  though  not  slender 
figure,  advanced  to  greet  them. 

It  was  after  breakfast  (and  the  scene  was  the 
neat  pig's  pen,  where  Armorer  was  displaying  his 
ignorance  of  swine)  that  he  found  his  first  chance 
to  talk  with  his  sister  alone.  "  Oh,  first,  Sis," 
said  he,  "about  your  birthday,  to-day;  I  tele- 
graphed to  Tiffany's  for  that  silver  service,  you 
know,  that  you  liked,  so  you  needn't  think  there's 
a  mistake  when  it  comes." 

"Oh,  'Raish,  that  gorgeous  thing  !     I  must  kiss 
you,  if  Daniel  does  see  me  !  " 
14 


2IO 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOU'X 


"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Armorer,  hastily, 
and  began  to  talk  of  the  pig.  Suddenly,  without 
looking  up,  he  dropped  into  the  pig-pen  the  re- 
mark: "  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  writing 
me,   Mtg." 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  feel  more  like  a 
virtuous  sister  or  a  villanous  aunt,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Ellis;  "things  seemed  to  be  getting  on  so  rapidly 
that  it  didn't  seem  right,  Esther  visiting  me  and 
.ill,  not  to  give  you  a  hint;  still,  I  am  sure  that 
nothing  has  been  said,  and  it  is  horrid  for  Esther, 
perfectly  horrid,  discussing  her  proposals  that 
haven't  been  proposed!" 

"  I  don't  want  them  ever  to  be  proposed,"  said 
Armorer,  gloomily. 

"I  know  you  always  said  you  didn't  want 
Esther  to  marry;  but  1  thought  if  she  fell  in  love 
with  the  right  man  -we  know  that  marriage  is  a 
very  happy  estate,  sometimes,  Horatio!"  She 
sighed  again.  In  her  ease  it  was  only  the  memory 
of  happiness,  for  Colonel  Ellis  had  been  dead  these 
twelve  years;  but  his  widow  mourned  him  still. 

"If  you  marry  the  right  one,  maybe,"  answered 
Armorer,  grudgingly;  "but  see  here,  Meg,  Esther 
is  different  from  the  other  girls;  they  got  married 
when   Jenny  was  alive  to   look  after  them,  and   I 


HARRY  LOSSING  21  I 

knew  the  men,  and  they  were  both  big  matches, 
you  know.  Then,  too,  I  was  so  busy  making 
money  while  the  other  girls  grew  up  that  I  hadn't 
time  to  get  real  well  acquainted  with  them.  I 
don't    think    they    ever    kissed    me,   except   when 

I   gave  them    a    check.      But   Esther    and    I " 

he  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  boards,  his 
thin,  keen  face  wearing  a  look  that  would  have 
amazed  his  business  acquaintances — "  you  re- 
member when  her  mother  died,  Meg?  Only 
fifteen,  and  how  she  took  hold  of  things  !  And 
we  have  been  together  ever  since,  and  she  makes 
me  think  of  her  grandmother  and  her  mother 
both.     She's    never    had    a   wish    I    knew   that    I 

haven't  granted — why,  d ■  it  !    I've  bought  my 

clothes  to  please  her " 

"  That's  why  you  are  become  so  well-dressed, 
Horatio  ;  I  wondered  how  you  came  to  spruce  up 
so  !  "  interrupted   Mrs.  Ellis. 

"  It  has  been  so  blamed  lonesome  whenever  she 
went  to  visit  you,  but  yet  I  wouldn't  say  a  word 
because  I  knew  what  a  good  time  she  had  ;  but  if 
I  had  known  that  there  was  a  confounded,  long- 
legged,  sniffy  young  idiot  all  that  while  trying  to 
steal  my  daughter  away  from  me  !  "  In  an  access 
of  wrath   at   the  idea  Armorer  wrenched  off  the 


21 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


picket  that  he  clutched,  at  which  he  laughed  and 
stuck   his  hands  in   his  pockets. 

"  Why,  Meg,  the  papers  and  magazines  arc  al- 
ways howling  that  women  won't  marry,"  cried  he, 
with  a  fresh  sense  ol  grievance  ;  "  now,  two  of  my 
girls  have  married,  that's  enough;  there  was  no 
reason  for  me  to  expect  any  more  of  them  would  ! 
There  isn't  one  d —  -  hit  of  need  for  Esther  to 
marry  ! 

"  Hut  il  she  loves  the  young  fellow  and  lie  loves 
her,  won't   you    let   them    he    happy?" 

'"lie  won't   make   her   happy." 

"  He  is  a  very  good  fellow,  truly  and  really, 
'Raish.     And   he  comes  of  a  good   family 

"  I  don't  care  for  his  family;  and  as  to  his  being 
moral  ami  all  that,  I  know  several  young  fellows 
that  could  skin  him  alive  in  a  bargain  that  are 
moral  as  you  please.  I  have  been  a  moral  man, 
myself.  But  the  trouble  with  this  Lossing  (I  told 
Esther  I  didn't  know  anything  about  him,  but  I 
do),  the  trouble  with  him  is  that  he  is  chock 
full  of  all  kinds  of  principles!  Just  as  father  was. 
Don't  you  remember  how  he  lost  parish  after 
parish  because  he  couldn't  smooth  over  the  big 
men  in  them  ?  Lossing  is  ever}-  bit  as  pig-headed. 
I  am  not  going  to  have  my  daughter  lead  the  kind 


HARRY  LOS  SING  213 

of  life  my  mother  did.  I  want  a  son-in-law  who 
ain't  going  to  think  himself  so  much  better  than  I 
am,  and  be  rowing  me  for  my  way  of  doing  busi- 
ness. If  Esther  must  marry  I'd  like  her  to  marry 
a  man  with  a  head  on  him  that  I  can  take  into 
business,  and  who  will  be  willing  to  live  with  the 
old  man.  This  Lossing  has  got  his  notions  of 
making  a  sort  of  Highland  chief  affair  of  the  labor 
question,  and  we  should  get  along  about  as  well 
as  the   Kilkenny  cats  !  " 

Mrs.  Ellis  knew  more  than  Esther  about  Armo- 
rer's business  methods,  having  the  advantage  of 
her  husband's  point  of  view  ;  and  Colonel  Ellis 
had  kept  the  army  standard  of  honor  as  well  as 
the  army  ignorance  of  business.  To  counter- 
balance, she  knew  more  than  anyone  alive  what 
a  good  son  and  brother  Horatio  had  always 
been.  But  she  could  not  restrain  a  smile  at  the 
picture   of  the    partnership. 

"  Precisely,  you  see  yourself,"  said  Armorer. 
"  Meg" — hesitating — "  you  don't  suppose  it  would 
be  any  use  to  offer  Esther  a  cool  hundred  thou- 
sand to  promise  to  bounce  this  young  fellow  ? " 

"Horatio,  no!"  cried  Mrs.  Ellis,  tossing  her 
pretty  gray  head  indignantly ;  "  you'd  insult 
her !  " 


14 


STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


"  Take  it  the  same  way,  eh?  Well,  perhaps; 
Essie  lias  high-toned  notions.  That's  all  right,  it 
is  the  thing  for  women.  Mother  had  them  too. 
Look  here,  Meg,  I'll  tell  you,  I  want  to  sec  if  this 
young  fellow  lias  any  sense!  We  have  an  ordi- 
nance that  we  want  passed.  If  he  will  get  Ins 
council  to  pass  it.  that  will  show  he  can  put  his 
grand  theories  into  his  pockets  sometimes;  and  I 
will  give  him  a  show  with  Esther.  If  he  doesn't 
care  enough  for  my  girl  to  oblige  her  father,  even 
if  he  doesn't  please  a  lot  of  carping  roosters  that 
want  the  earth  for  their  town  and  would  like  a 
street  railway  to  be  run  to  accommodate  them 
and  lose  money  for  the  stockholders,  well,  then, 
you  can't  blame  me  if  I  don't  want  him!  Now, 
will  you  do  one  thing  for  me,  Meg,  to  help  me 
out?  I  don't  want  Lossing  to  persuade  Esther 
to  commit  herself;  you  know  how,  when  she  was 
a  little  mite,  if  Esther  gave  her  word  she  kept  it. 
I  want  you  to  promise  me  you  won't  let  Esther 
be  alone  one  second  with  young  Lossing.  She  is 
going  to-morrow,  but  there's  your  whist-party 
to-night;  I  suppose  he's  coming?  And  I  want 
you  to  promise  you  won't  let  him  have  our  ad- 
dress. If  he  treats  me  square,  he  won't  need  to 
ask  you   for  it.     Well?" 


HARRY   LOSSING  21  5 

He  buttoned  up  his  coat  and  folded  his  arms, 
waiting. 

Mrs.  Ellis's  sympathy  had  gone  out  to  the 
young  people  as  naturally  as  water  runs  down 
hill  ;  for  she  is  of  a  romantic  temperament, 
though  she  doesn't  dare  to  be  weighed.  But 
she  remembered  the  silver  service,  the  coffee-pot, 
the  tea-pot,  the  tray  for  spoons,  the  creamer,  the 
hot-water  kettle,  the  sugar-bowl,  all  on  a  rich 
salver,  splendid,  dazzling  ;  what  rank  ingratitude 
it  would  be  to  oppose  her  generous  brother! 
Rather  sadly  she  answered,  but  she  did  answer  : 
"  I'll  do  that  much  for  you,  'Raish,  but  I  feel 
we're  risking  Esther's  happiness,  and  I  can  only 
keep  the  letter  of  my  promise." 

"  That's  all  I  ask,  my  dear,"  said  Armorer, 
taking  out  a  little  shabby  note-book  from  his 
breast-pocket,  and  scratching  out  a  line.  The 
line   effaced   read: 

"  See  E  er  M  tea-set." 

"  The  silver  service  was  a  good  muzzle,"  he 
thought.  He  went  away  for  an  interview  with 
the  corporation  lawyer  and  the  superintendent 
of  the  road,  leaving  Mrs.  Ellis  in  a  distraction  of 
conscience  that  made  her  the  wonder  of   her  ser- 


2l6 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


vants  that  morning,  during  all  the  preparations 
for  the  whist-party.  She  might  have  felt  more 
remorseful  had  she  guessed  her  brother's  real  plan, 
lie  knew  enough  of  Lossing  to  be  assured  that 
he  would  not  yield  about  the  ordinance,  which  he 
firmly  believed  to  be  a  dangerous  one  for  the  city, 
lie  expected,  he  counted  on  the  mayor's  refusing 
his  proffers.  He  hoped  that  Esther  would  feel 
the  sympathy  which  women  give,  without  ques- 
tion generally,  to  the  business  plans  of  those  near 
and  deai'  to  them,  taking  it  for  granted  that  the 
plans  are  right  because  they  will  advantage  those 
so  near  and  dear.  That  was  the  beautiful  ami 
proper  way  that  Jenny  had  always  reasoned  ;  why 
should  Jenny's  daughter  do  otherwise?  When 
Harry  Lossing  should  oppose  her  father  and  re- 
fuse to  please  him  and  to  win  her,  mustn't  any 
high-spirited  woman  feel  hurt  ?  Certain!}'  she 
must;  and  he  would  take  care  to  whisk  her  off 
to  Europe  before  the  young  man  had  a  chance  to 
make  his  peace!  "  Yes,  sir,"  says  Armorer,  to  his 
only  confidant,  "you  never  were  a  domestic  con- 
spirator before,  Horatio,  but  you  have  got  it 
down  fine  !  You  would  do  for  Gaboriau  " — 
Gaburiau's  novels  being  the  only  fiction  that 
ever  Armorer  read.     Nevertheless,  his  conscience 


HARRY  LOSSING  2\J 

pricked  him  almost  as  sharply  as  his  sister's 
pricked  her.  Consciences  are  queer  things  ;  like 
certain  crustaceans,  they  grow  shells  in  spots; 
and,  proof  against  moral  artillery  in  one  part,  they 
may  be  soft  as  a  baby's  cheek  in  another.  Ar- 
morer's conscience  had  two  sides,  business  and 
domestic;  people  abused  him  for  a  business  buc- 
caneer, at  the  same  time  his  private  life  was  pure, 
and  he  was  a  most  tender  husband  and  father. 
He  had  never  deceived  Esther  before  in  her  life. 
Once  he  had  ridden  all  night  in  a  freight-car  to 
keep  a  promise  that  he  had  made  the  child.  It 
hurt  him  to  be  hoodwinking  her  now.  But 
he  was  too  angry  and  too  frightened  to  cry 
back. 

The  interview  with  the  lawyer  did  not  take  any 
long  time,  but  he  spent  two  hours  with  the  super- 
intendent of  the  road,  who  pronounced  him  "  a 
little  nice  fellow  with  no  airs  about  him.  Asked 
a  power  of  questions  about  Harry  Lossing  ;  guess 
there  is  something  in  that  story  about  Lossing 
going  to  marry  his  daughter  !  " 

Marston  drove  him  to  Lossing's  office  and  left 
him  there. 

.     He  was  on  the  ground,  and   Marston  lifting  the 
whip  to  touch  the  horse,  when  he  asked  :  "  Say, 


2l8  STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


before  you  go — is  there  any  danger  in  leaving  off 
the  conductors  ? " 

Marston  was  raised  on  mules,  and  he  could 
not  overcome  a  vehement  distrust  of  electricity. 
"Well,"  said  he,  "I  guess  you  want  the  cold 
facts.  The  children  are  almighty  thick  down 
on  Third  Street,  and  children  are  always  trying 
to  see  how  near  they  can  come  to  being  killed, 
you  know,  sir;  and  then,  the  old  women  like  to 
come  and  stand  on  the  track  and  ask  questions 
of  the  motorneer  on  the  other  track,  so  that 
the  car  coming  down  has  a  chance  to  catch  'em. 
The  two  together  keep  the  conductors  on  the 
jump !  " 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Armorer,  musingly;  "  well, 
1  guess  you'd  better  close  with  that  insurance  man 
and  get  the  papers  made  out  before  we  run  the 
new  way." 

"  If  we  ever  do  run  !  "  muttered  the  superin- 
tendent to  himself  as  he  drove  away. 

Armorer  ran  his  sharp  eye  over  the  buildings  of 
the  Tossing  Art  Furniture  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany,  from  the  ugly  square  brick  box  that  was 
the  nucleus — the  egg,  so  to  speak — from  which 
the  great  concern  had  been  hatched,  to  the  hand- 
some new  structures  with   their  great   arched  win- 


II A  R  RY  1 0  SSING  2  1 9 

clows  and  reel  mortar.  "  Pretty  property,  very 
pretty  property,"  thought  Armorer  ;  "  wonder  if 
that  story  Marston  tells  is  true  !  "  The  story  was 
to  the  effect  that  a  few  weeks  before  his  last  sick- 
ness the  older  Lossing  had  taken  his  son  to  look 
at  the  buildings,  and  said,  "  Harry,  this  will  all  be 
yours  before  long.  It  is  a  comfort  to  me  to  think 
that  every  workman  I  have  is  the  better,  not  the 
worse,  off  for  my  owning  it  ;  there's  no  blood  or 
dirt  on  my  money  ;  and  I  leave  it  to  you  to  keep 
it  clean  and  to  take  care  of  the  men  as  well  as  the 
business." 

"  Now,  wasn't  he  a  d fool  !  "  said  Armorer, 

cheerfully,   taking  out   his  note-book  to  mark, 

"  See  abt  road  M-D-" 

And  he  went  in.  Harry  greeted  him  with 
exceeding  cordiality  and  a  fine  blush.  Armorer 
explained  that  he  had  come  to  speak  to  him  about 
the  proposed  street-car  ordinances ;  he  (Armorer) 
always  liked  to  deal  with  principals  and  without 
formality  ;  now,  couldn't  they  come,  representing 
the  city  and  the  company,  to  some  satisfactory 
compromise?  Thereupon  he  plunged  into  the 
statistics  of  the  earnings  and  expenses  of  the  road 
(with   the   aid    of   his   note-book),    and    made   the 


220 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


absolute  necessity  of  retrenchment  plain.  Mean- 
while, as  he  talked  he  studied  the  attentive 
listener  before  him  ;  and  Harry,  on  his  part,  made 
quite  as  good  use  of  Ids  eyes.  Armorer  saw  a 
tall,  athletic,  fair  young  man,  very  carefully, 
almost  foppishly  dressed,  with  bright,  steady  blue 
eyes  and  a  firm  chin,  but  a  smile  under  his  mus- 
tache like  a  child's  ;  it  was  so  sunny  and  so  quick. 
Harry  saw  a  neat  little  figure  in  a  perfectly  fitting 
gray  check  travelling  suit,  with  a  rose  in  the  but- 
tonhole of  the  coat  lapel.  Armorer  wore  no 
jewellery  except  a  gold  ring  on  the  little  finger  of 
his  right  hand,  from  which  he  had  taken  the  glove 
the  better  to  write.  Harry  knew  that  it  was  his 
dead  wife's  wedding-ring  ;  and  noticed  it  with  a 
little  moving  of  the  heart.  The  face  that  he  saw- 
was  pale  but  not  sickly,  delicate  and  keen.  A 
silk\'  brown  mustache  shot  with  gray  and  a  Van- 
dyke beard  hid  either  the  strength  or  the  weak- 
ness of  mouth  and  chin.  He  looked  at  Harry 
with  almond-shaped,  pensive  dark  eyes,  so  like 
the  eyes  that  had  shone  on  Harry's  waking  and 
sleeping  dreams  for  months  that  the  young  fellow 
felt  Ids  heart  rise  again.  Armorer  ended  by  ask- 
ing Harry  (in  his  most  winning  manner)  to  help 
him  pull  the  ordinance  out  of  the  fire.      "  It  would 


HARRY  LOS  SING  221 

be,"  he  said,  impressively,  "  a  favor  he  should  not 
forget  !  " 

"And  you  must  know,  Mr.  Armorer,"  said 
Harry,  in  a  dismal  tone  at  which  the  president 
chuckled  within,  "  that  there  is  no  man  whose 
favor  I   would  do  so  much  to  win  !  " 

"  Well,  here's  your  chance  !  "  said  Armorer. 

Harry  swung'  round  in  his  chair,  his  clinched 
fists  on  his  knee.  He  was  frowning  with  eager- 
ness, and  his  eyes  were  like  blue  steel. 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Armorer,"  said  he,  "  I  am  frank 
with  you.  I  want  to  please  you,  because  I  want 
to  ask  you  to  let  me  marry  your  daughter.  But  I 
can't  please  you,  because  I  am  mayor  of  this 
town,  and  1  don't  dare  to  let  you  dismiss  the 
conductors.  I  don't  dare,  that's  the  point.  We 
have  had  four  children  killed  on  this  road  since 
electricity  was  put   in." 

"We  have  had  forty  killed  on  one  street 
railway  I  know ;  what  of  it  ?  Do  you  want  to 
give  up  electricity  because  it  kills  children  ?" 

"  No,  but  look  here  !  the  conductors  lessen  the 
risk.  A  lady  I  know,  only  yesterday,  had  a  little 
boy  going  from  the  kindergarten  home,  nice  little 
fellow  only  five  years  old " 

"  She     ou<dit     to     have    sent    a    nurse     with    a 


STORIES  OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


child  five  years  old,  a  hah)!"  cried  Armorer, 
warmly. 

"That    lady,"  answered  Harry,   quietly,    "goes 

without  any  servant  at  all  in  order  to  keep  her 
two  children  at  the  kindergarten  ;  and  the  boy's 
elder  sister  was  ill  at  home.  The  boy  got  on  the 
car,  and  when  he  got  off  at  the  crossing  above  his 
house,  he  started  to  run  across;  the  other  train- 
car  was  coming,  the  little  fellow  didn't  notice,  ami 
i", m  to  cross  ;  he  stumbled  and  fell  right  in  the 
path  of  the  coming  car  ! 

"Where  was  the  conductor.'1  lie  didn't  seem 
much    good  !  " 

"  The\-  had  left  off  the  conductor  on  that  line." 

"Well,  did  they  run  over  the  boy?  Why 
haven't  I  been  informed  of  the  accident  ?" 

"There  was  no  accident.  A  man  on  the  front 
platform  saw  the  boy  fall,  made  a  flying  leap  off 
the  moving  car,  fell,  but  scrambled  up  and  pulled 
the  boy  off  the  track.  It  was  sickening  :  I 
thought  we  were  both  gone  !  " 

"  Oh,  you   were  the  man  ?  " 

"  I  was  the  man  ;  and  don't  you  see,  Air. 
Armorer,  why  I  feel  strongly  on  the  subject  ?  If 
the  conductor  had  been  on,  there  wouldn't  have 
been   any   occasion  for   any   accident." 


HARRY  LOSSING  223 

"  Well,  sir,  you  may  be  assured  that  we  will 
take  precautions  against  any  such  accidents.  It 
is  more  for  our  interest  than  anyone's  to  guard 
against  them.  And  I  have  explained  to  you  the 
necessity  of  cutting  down  our  expense  list." 

"  That  is  just  it,  you  think  you  have  to  risk  our 
lives  to  cut  down  expenses  ;  but  we  get  all  the 
risk  and  none  of  the  benefits.  I  can't  see  my  way 
clear  to  helping  you,  sir;   I  wish  I  could." 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  more  to  say,  Mr.  Loss- 
ing,"  said  Armorer,  coldly.  "  I'm  sorry  a  mere 
sentiment  that  has  no  real  foundation  should 
stand  in  the  way  of  our  arranging  a  deal  that 
would  be  for  the  advantage  of  both  the  city  and 
our  road."     He  rose. 

Harry  rose  also,  but  lifted  his  hand  to  arrest 
the  financier.  "  Pardon  me,  there  is  something 
else  ;  I  wouldn't  mention  it,  but  I  hear  you  are 
going  to  leave  to-morrow  and  go  abroad  with — 
Miss  Armorer.  I  am  conscious  I  haven't  intro- 
duced myself  very  favorably,  by  refusing  you  a 
favor  when  I  want  to  ask  the  greatest  one  pos- 
sible ;  but  I  hope,  sir,  you  will  not  think  the  less 
of  a  man  because  he  is  not  willing  to  sacrifice  the 
interests  of  the  people  who  trust  him,  to  please 
anyone.     I — I  hope  you  will  not  object  to  my  ask- 


224  STORIES    OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 

ing  Miss  Armorer  to  marry  me,"  concluded  Harry, 
very  hot  and  shaky,  and  forgetting  the  beginning 
of  his   sentences  before   he   came  to  the  end. 

"  Does  my  daughter  love  you,  do  I  understand, 
Mr.    Lossing?" 

"  I  don't  know.  sir.      I  wish  I  did." 

"  Well,  Mi'.  Lossing,"  said  Armorer,  wishing 
that  something  in  the  young  man's  confusion 
would  not  remind  him  <>t'  the  awful  moment  when 
he  a^ked  old  Forrester  for  his  Jenny,  '*  I  am  afraid 
I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  If  you  have  too  nice 
a  conscience  to  oblige  me.  I  am  afraid  it  will 
he  too  idee  to  let  you  get  on  in  the  world. 
( i<  »od-m<  irning." 

"Stop  a  minute,"  said  Harry;  "if  it  is  only 
my  ability  te>  get  on  in  the  world  that  is  the 
trouble,    I    think " 

"It  is  your  love  for  my  daughter,"  said 
Armorer;  "if  you  don't  love  her  enough  to 
give  up  a  sentimental  notion  for  her,  to  win  her, 
I  don't  see  but  you  must  lose  her.  I  bid  you 
good-morning,   sir." 

"  Not  quite  yet,  sir" — Harry  jumped  before  the 
door  ;  "  you  give  me  the  alternative  of  being  wdiat 
I  call  dishonorable  or  losing  the  woman  I  love  !  " 
lie  pronounced   the  last  word  with   a  little  effort 


HARRY  LOS  SING  --S 

and  his  lips  closed  sharply  as  his  teeth  shut  under 
them.  "  Well,  I  decline  the  alternative.  I  shall 
try  to  do  my  duty  and  get  the  wife  I  want,  bothy 

"  Well,  you  give  me  fair  warning,  don't  you?" 
said  Armorer. 

Harry  held  out  his  hand,  saying,  "  I  am  sorry 
that  I  detained  you.  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude." 
There  was  something  boyish  and  simple  about 
the  action  and  the  tone,  and  Armorer  laughed. 
As  Harry  attended  him  through  the  outer  office 
to  the  door,  he  complimented  the   shops. 

"  Miss  Armorer  and  Mrs.  Ellis  have  promised 
to  give  me  the  pleasure  of  showing  them  to  them 
this  afternoon,"  said  Harry  ;  "  can't  I  show  them 
and  part  of  our  city  to  you,  also?  It  has  changed 
a  good  deal  since  you  left   it." 

The  remark  threw  Armorer  off  his  balance  ;  for 
a  rejected  suitor  this  young  man  certainly  kept  an 
even  mind.  But  he  had  all  the  helplessness  of 
the  average  American  with  regard  to  his  daughter's 
amusements.  The  humor  in  the  situation  took 
him  ;  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  he  began  to 
have  a  vivid  curiosity  about  Harry.  In  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  read  it,  his  mind  had  swung  round 
the  circle  of  these  various  points  of  view,  and  he 
had  blandly  accepted  Harry's  invitation.  But  he 
15 


126 


STORIES   (>/■    A    WESTERN    TOWN 


mopped  a  warm  and  furrowed  brow,  outside, 
and  drew  a  prodigious  sigh  as  lie  opened  the 
note-book  in  his  hand  and  crossed  out,  "See  L." 
"  That  young  fellow  ain't  all  conscience,"  said  he, 
'•  n<  it   by  a   1<  »ng  sh<  it." 

lie  found  Mrs.  Ellis  very  apologetic  about  the 
Lossing  engagement.  It  was  made  through  the 
telephone;  Esther  had  been  anxious  to  have  her 
father  meet  Lossing ;  Lossing'was  to  drive  them 
there,  and  later  show    Mr.    Armorer  the   town. 

"  Mr.  Lossing  is  a  very  clever  young  man,  very," 
said  Armorer,  gravely,  as  he  went  out  to  smoke 
his  cigar  after  luncheon.  lie  wished  he  had 
stayed,  however,  when  he  returned  to  find  that 
a  visitor  had  called,  and  that  this  visitor  was  the 
mother  of  the  little  boy  that  Harry  Lossing  had 
saved  from  the  car.  The  two  women  gave  him 
the  accident  in  full,  and  were  lavish  of  harrowing 
detail,  including  the  mother's  feelings.  "  So  you 
see,  "Raish,"  urged  Mrs.  Ellis,  timidly,  "  there  is 
some  reason   for  opposition   to  the   ordinance." 

Esther's  cheeks  were  red  and  her  eyes  shone, 
but  she  had  not  spoken.  Her  father  put  his  arm 
around  her  waist  and  kissed  her  hair.  "  And  what 
did  you  say,  Essie,"  he  asked,  gently,  "  to  all  the 
criticisms  ?  " 


22.S 


STORIES   OF  .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


"I  told  her  I  thought  you  would  find  some 
way  to  protect  the  children  even  if  the  conductors 
were  taken  off;  you  didn't  enjoy  the  slaughter  of 
children  any  more  than   anyone  else." 

"  I  guess  we  can  fix  it.  Here  is  your  young 
man." 

Harry  drove  a  pair  oi  spirited  horses.  lie 
drove  well,  and  looked  both  handsome  and  happy. 

"  Did  you  know  that  lady — the  mother  of  the 
boy  that  wasn't  ran  over — was  coming  to  see  my 
sister.'"  said   Armorer,  on  the  way. 

"I  did,"  said  Harry,"]  sent  her;  I  thought 
she  could  explain  the  reason  why  I  shall  have  to 
oppose  the  bill,  better  than   I." 

Armorer  made  no  reply. 

At  the  shops  he  kept  his  eye  on  the  young  man. 
Harry  seemed  to  know  most  of  his  workmen,  and 
had  a  nod  or  a  word  for  all  the  older  men.  lie 
stopped  several  moments  to  talk  with  one  old 
German  who  complained  of  everything,  but 
looked  after  Harry  with  a  smile,  nodding  his 
head.  "  That  man,  Lieders,  is  our  best  work- 
man ;  you  can't  get  any  better  work  in  the 
country/'  said  he.  "  I  want  you  to  see  an  armoire 
that  he  has  carved,  it  is  up  in  our  exhibition 
room." 


HARRY  LOSSING  --9 

Armorer  said,  "  You  seem  to  get  on  very  well 
with  your  working  people,  Mr.   Lossing." 

"  I  think  we  generally  get  on  well  with  them, 
and  they  do  well  themselves,  in  these  Western 
towns.  For  one  thing,  we  haven't  much  organiza- 
tion to  fight,  and  for  another  thing,  the  individual 
workman  has  a  better  chance  to  rise.  That  man 
Lieders,  whom  you  saw,  is  worth  a  good  many 
thousand  dollars  ;  my  father  invested  his  savings 
for  him." 

"  You  are  one  of  the  philanthropists,  aren't  you, 
Mr.  Lossing,  who  are  trying  to  elevate  the  labor- 
ing classes?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  sir.  I  shall  never  try  to  ele- 
vate the  laboring  classes  ;  it  is  too  big  a  contract. 
But  I  try  as  hard  as  I  know  how  to  have  every 
man  who  has  worked  for  Harry  Lossing  the  better 
for  it.  I  don't  concern  myself  with  any  other 
laboring  men." 

Just  then  a  murmur  of  exclamations  came  from 
Mrs.  Ellis  and  Esther,  whom  the  superintendent 
was  piloting  through  the  shops.  "  Oh,  no,  it  is 
too  heavy  ;  oh,  don't  do  it,  Mr.  Cardigan  !  "  "  Oh, 
we  can  see  it  perfectly  well  from  here !  Please 
don't,  you  will  break  yourself  somewhere  !  "  Mrs. 
Ellis  shrieked  this  ;  but  the  shrieks  turned  to  a 


230 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


murmur  of  admiration  as  a  huge  carved  sideboard 
came  bobbing  and  wobbling,  like  an  intoxicated 
piece  of  furniture  in  a  haunted  house,  toward  the 
two  gentlewomen.  Immediately,  a  short  but 
powerfully  built  man,  whose  red  face  beamed 
above  his  dust)-  shoulders  like  a  full  moon  with  a 
mustache,  emerged,  and  waved  his  hand  at  the 
sideb<  iard. 

"  I  could  tackle  the  two  of  them,  begging  your 
pardon,  ladies." 

"That's  Cardigan,"  explained  Harry,  "Miss 
Armorer  may  have  told  you  about  him.  Oh, 
Shuey  !  " 

Cardigan  approached  and  was  presented.  He 
brought  both  his  heels  together  and  bowed  sol- 
emn!)', bending  his  head  at   the  same  time. 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Shuey.  Then 
he  assumed  an  attitude  of  military  attention. 

"  Take  us  up  in  the  elevator,  will  you,  Shuey?" 
said  Harry.  "Step  in,  Mr.  Armorer,  please,  we 
will  go  and  see  the  reproductions  of  the  antique  ; 
we  have  a  room   upstairs." 

Mr.  Armorer  stepped  in,  Shuey  following";  and 
then,  before  Harry  could  enter  it,  the  elevator 
shot   upward  and — stuck  ! 

"What's  the  matter?"   cried   Armorer. 


HARRY  LOS  SING  23  I 

Shuey  was  tugging  at  the  wire  rope.  He  called, 
in  tones  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  panting 
chest  :  "Take  a  pull  at  it  yourself,  sir!  Can  you 
move  it  ?  " 

Armorer  grasped  the  rope  viciously  ;  Shuey  was 
on  the  scat  pulling  from  above.  "  We're  stuck, 
sir,  fast  !  " 

"Can't  you  get  down  either?" 

"  Divil  a  bit,  saving  your  presence,  sir.  Do  ye 
think  like  the  water-works  could  be  busted?" 

"Can't  you  make  somebody  hear?"  panted 
Armorer. 

"  Well,  you  see  there's  a  deal  of  noise  of  the 
machinery,"  said  Shuey,  scratching  his  chin  with 
a  thoughtful  air,  "  and  they  expect  we've  gone 
up  !  " 

"  Best  try,  anyhow.  This  infernal  machine  may 
take  a  notion  to  drop  !  "  said  Armorer. 

"  And  that's  true,  too,"  acquiesced  Shuey. 
Forthwith  he  did  lift  up  his  voice  in  a  loud  wail- 
ing: "Oh — h,  Jimmy!     Oh — k,  Jimmy  Ryan!" 

Jimmy  might  have  been  in  Chicago  for  any 
response  he  made ;  though  Armorer  shouted  with 
Shuey ;  and  at  every  pause  the  whir  of  the 
machinery  mocked  the  shouters.  Indescribable 
moans  and  gurgles,  with  a  continuous  malignant 


STORIES    OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


hiss,  floated  up  to  them  from  the  rebel  steam 
below,  as  from  a  volcano  considering  eruption. 
"They'll  be  bound  to  need  the  elevator  some 
time,  if  they  don't  need  ?is,  and  that's  one  com- 
fort!" said   Shuey,   philosophically. 

"  Don't  you  think  if  we  pulled  on  her  we  could 
get  her  up  to  the  next  floor,  by  degrees  ?  Now 
then  !" 

Armorer  gave  a  dash  and  Shuey  let  out  his 
muscles  in  a  giant  tug.  The  elevator  responded 
by  an  astonishing  leap  that  carried  them  past 
three  or  four  floors  ! 

"Stop  her!  stop  her  !"  bawled  Shuey ;  but  in 
spite  of  Armorer's  pulling  himself  purple  in  the 
face,  the  elevator  did  not  stop  until  it  bumped 
with   a   crash   against   the  joists   of  the   roof. 

"Well,  do  you  suppose  we're  stuck  here?" 
growled   Armorer. 

"  Well,  sir,  I'll  try.  Say,  don't  be  exerting 
yourself  violent.  It  strikes  me  she's  for  all  the 
world  like  the  wimmen, — in  exthremes,  sir,  in  ex- 
thremes !  And  it  wouldn't  be  noways  so  pleasant 
to  go  riproaring  that  gait  down  cellar!  Slow  and 
easy,  sir,  let  me  manage  her.  Hi!  she's  work- 
ing." 

In    fact,    by    slow    degrees   and    much    puffing, 


hfcfa^l 


Mr.    Armorer   got   out,    and   they    left  the  elevator  to    its   fate. 


=34 


STORIES   OF  A    WESTERN    TOWN 


Shuey  got  the  erratic  box  to  the  next  floor,  where, 
disregarding  Shuey's  protestations  that  he  could 
"make  her  mind,"  Mr.  Armorer  got  out,  and 
they  left  the  elevator  to  its  fate.  It  was  a  long 
way,  through  many  rooms,  downstairs.  Shuey 
would  have  beguiled  the  way  by  describing  the 
rooms,  but  Armorer  was  in  a  raging  hurry  and 
urged  Ids  guide  over  the  ground.  (  Mice  they 
were  delayed  by  a  bundle  of  stufl  in  front  of  a 
door;  and  after  Shuey  had  laboriously  rolled  the 
great  roll  away,  he  made  a  misstep  and  tumbled 
over,  rolling  it  back,  to  a  tittering  accompaniment 
from  the  sewing-girls  in  the  room.  But  he  picked 
himself  it[>  in  perfect  good  temper  and  kicked  the 
roll  ten  yards.  "Girls  is  silly  things,"  said  the 
philosopher  Shuey,  "  but  being  born  that  way  it 
ain't  to  be  expected  otherwise!" 

He  had  the  friendly  freedom  of  his  class  in  the 
West.  lie  praised  Mrs.  Ellis's  gymnastics,  and 
urged  Armorer  to  stay  over  a  morning  train  and 
see  a  "real  pretty  boxing  match"  between  Mr. 
Lossing  and    himself. 

"Oh,  he  boxes  too,   does  he?"   said    Armorer. 

"And  why  on  earth  would  he  groan-like?" 
wondered  Shuey  to  himself.  "  lie  does  that,  sir," 
he  continued   aloud  ;   "  didn't    Mrs.    Ellis  ever  tell 


HARRY  LOS  SING  235 

you  about  the  time  at  the  circus  ?  She  was  there 
herself,  with  three  children  she  borrowed  and  an 
unreasonable  gyurl,  with  a  terrible  big  screech  in 
her  and  no  sense.  Yes,  sir,  Mr.  Lossing  he  is 
mighty  cliver  with  his  hands  !  There  come  a  yell 
of  '  Lion  loose  !  lion  loose  ! '  at  that  circus,  just 
as  the  folks  was  all  crowding  out  at  the  end  of  it, 
and  them  that  had  gone  into  the  menagerie  tent 
came  a-tumbling  and  howling  back,  and  them  that 
was  in  the  circus  tent  waiting  for  the  concert 
(which  never  ain't  worth  waiting  for,  between  you 
and  me  !)  was  a-scrambling  off  them  seats,  making 
a  noise  like  thunder  ;  and  all  fighting  and  pushing 
and  bellowing  to  get  out  !  I  was  there  with  my 
wife  and  making  for  the  seats  that  the  fools  quit, 
so's  to  get  under  and  crawl  out  under  the  canvas, 
when  I  see  Mrs.  Ellis  holding  two  of  the  children, 
and  that  fool  girl  let  the  other  go  and  I  grabbed 
it.  '  Oh,  save  the  baby  !  save  one,  anyhow,'  cries 
my  wife — the  woman  is  a  tinder-hearted  crechure! 
And  just  then  I  seen  an  old  lady  tumble  over  on 
the  benches,  with  her  gray  hair  stringing  out  of 
her  black  bonnet.  The  crowd  was  wild,  hitting 
and  screaming  and  not  caring  for  anything,  and  I 
see  a  big  jack  of  a  man  come  plunging  down  right 
spang   dn   that   old    lady!      His   foot   was  right  in 


236  STORIES    OF   .1    WESTERA     TOWN 

the  air  over  her  face!  Lord,  it  turned  me  sick. 
I  yelled.  But  that  minnit  I  seen  an  arm  shoot 
out  and  that  fellow  shot  off  as  slick!  it  was  Mr. 
Lossing.      lie  parted  that  crowd,  hitting  right  and 

left,  and  he  got  up  to  us  and  hauled  a  child  from 
Mrs.  Ellis  and  put  it  on  the  seats,  all  the  while 
shouting:  '  Keep  your  seats!  it's  all  right!  it's 
all  over!  stand  back!'  I  turned  and  floored  a 
feller  that  was  too  pressing,  and  hollered  it  was 
all  right  too.  And  some  more  people  hollered 
too.  You  see,  there  is  just  a  minnit  at  such 
times  when  it  is  a  toss  up  whether  folks  will  quiet 
down  and  begin  to  laugh,  or  get  scared  into  wild 
beasts  and  crush  and  kill  each  other.  And  Mr. 
Lossing  he  caught  the  minnit  !  The  circus  folks 
came  up  and  the  police,  and  it  was  all  over.  Well, 
just  look  here,  sir  ;  there's  our  folks  coming  out 
of  the  elevator !  " 

They  were  just  landing;  ami  Mrs.  Ellis  wanted 
to  know  where  he  had  gone. 

"  We  run  away  from  ye,  shure,"  said  Shuey, 
grinning;  and  he  related  the  adventure.  Ar- 
morer fell  back  with  Mrs.  Ellis.  "Did  you  stay 
with  Esther  every  minute?"  said  he.  Mrs.  Ellis 
nodded.  She  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  then 
closed  them  ami  walked  ahead    to    Harry  Lossing. 


HARRY  LOSSING  237 

Armorer  looked — suspicion  of  a  dozen  kinds 
gnawing  him  and  insinuating  that  the  three  all 
seemed  agitated — from  Harry  to  Esther,  and  then 
to  Shuey.  But  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself 
and  was  very  agreeable  the  remainder  of  the  after- 
noon. 

He  heard  Harry  tell  Mrs.  Ellis  that  the  city 
council  would  meet  that  evening;  before,  how- 
ever, Armorer  could  feel  exultant  he  added,  "  but 
may  I  come  late  ?  " 

"  He  is  certainly  the  coolest  beggar,"  Armorer 
snarled,  "  but  he  is  sharp  as  a  nigger's  razor,  con- 
found him  !  " 

Naturally  this  remark  was  a  confidential  one  to 
himself. 

He  thought  it  more  times  than  one  during  the 
evening,  and  by  consequence  played  trumps  with 
equal  disregard  of  the  laws  of  the  noble  game  of 
whist  and  his  partner's  feelings.  He  found  a  few, 
a  very  few,  elderly  people  who  remembered  his 
parent,  and  they  will  never  believe  ill  of  Horatio 
Armorer,  who  talked  so  simply  and  with  so  much 
feeling  of  old  times,  and  who  is  going  to  give 
a  memorial  window  in  the  new  Presbyterian 
church.  He  was  beginning  to  think  with  some 
interest  of  supper,  the  usual  dinner  of  the  family 


-3'S  STORIES   (>/■    .1    WESTERN    TOWN 


having  been  sacrificed  to  the  demands  of  state'; 
then  he  saw  Harry  Lossing.     The  young  mayor's 

blond  head  was  bowing  before  his  sister's  black 
velvet.  lie  caught  Armorer's  eye  and  followed 
him  out  to  the  lawn  and  the  shadows  and  the  gay 
1. interns.  He  looked  animated.  Evening  dress 
was  becoming  to  him.  "One  of  my  daughters 
married  a  prince,  but  I  am  hanged  if  he  looked  it 
like  this  fellow,"  thought  Armorer;  "but  then  he 
was  only  an  Italian.  1  suppose  the  council  did 
not  pa^s  the  ordinance?  your  committee  reported 
against  it.'"  he  said  quite  amicably  to  Harry. 

"  I  wish  you  could  understand  how  much  pain 
it  has  given  me  to  oppose  you.  Mr.  Armorer," 
said    I  I  any.    blushing. 

"•  I  don't  doubt  it,  under  the  circumstances,  Air. 
Lossing."  Armorer  spoke  with  suave  politeness, 
but   there   was  a   cynical   gleam    in   his   eye. 

"But    Esther  understands,"  says   Harry. 

"  Esther  !  "  repeats  Armorer,  with  an  indescrib- 
able intonation.  "  You  spoke  to  her  this  after- 
noon? For  a  man  with  such  high-toned  ideas  as 
you  can-\',  I  think  you  took  a  pretty  mean  advan- 
tage  of   your   guests!" 

"  You  will  remember  I  gave  you  fair  warning, 
Mr.  Armorer." 


kind   enough   to   put   her  fins 


her  ears   and  turn    her   back. 


HARRY  LOSSING  24l 

"  It  was  while  I  was  in  the  elevator,  of  course, 
I  guessed  it  was  a  put-up  job  ;  how  did  you 
manage  it  ?  " 

Harry  smiled  outright  ;  he  is  one  who  cannot 
keep  either  his  dog  or  his  joke  tied  up.  "  It  was 
Shuey  did  it,"  said  he  ;  "  he  pulled  the  opposite 
way  from  you,  and  he  has  tremendous  strength  ; 
but   he   says  you   were  a  handful    for  him." 

"  You  seem  to  have  taken  the  town  into  your 
confidence,"  said  Armorer,  bitterly,  though  he 
had  a  sneaking  inclination  to  laugh  himself ;  "do 
you  need  all  your  workmen  to  help  you  court 
your  girl  ?  " 

"  I'd  take  the  whole  United  States  into  my 
confidence  rather  than  lose  her,  sir,"  answered 
Harry,  steadily. 

Armorer  turned  on  his  heel  abruptly  ;  it  was  to 
conceal  a  smile.  "How  about  my  sister?  did 
you  propose  before  her?  But  I  don't  suppose  a 
little   thing  like  that  would  stop  you." 

"  I  had  to  speak  ;  Miss  Armorer  goes  away  to- 
morrow. Mrs.  Ellis  was  kind  enough  to  put  her 
fingers  in  her  ears  and  turn  her  back." 

"  And  what  did  my  daughter  say  ?  " 

"  I  asked  her  only  to  give  me  the  chance  to 
show  her  how  I  loved  her,  and  she  has,  God  bless 


24- 


STORIES   01-    A    WESTERN    TOWN 


her!  I  don't  pretend  I'm  worthy  of  her,  Mr. 
Armorer,  but  I  have  lived  a  decent  life,  and  I'll 
try  hard  to  live  a  better  one  for  her  trust  in  me." 

"  I'm  glad  there  is  one  thing  on  which  we  are 
agreed,"  jeered  Armorer,  "  but  you  are  more 
modest  than  you  were  this  noun.  I  think  it  was 
considerably  like  bragging,  sending  that  woman 
to   tell    of  your   heroic    teats!" 

"  ( )h,  I  can  brag  when  it  is  necessary,"  said 
Harry,  serenely;  "what  would  the  West  be  but 
for  bragging  ?  " 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  if  I  take  your 
girl  to   Europe  ?  " 

"  Europe   is  not   very   far,"  said    Harry. 

Armorer  was  a  quick  thinker,  but  he  had  never 
thought  more  quickly  in  his  life.  This  young 
fellow  had  beaten  him.  There  was  no  doubt 
of  it.  He  might  have  principles,  but  he  de- 
clined to  let  his  principles  hamper  him.  There 
was  something  about  Harry's  waving  aside  defeat 
so  lightly,  and  so  swiftly  snatching  at  every  chance 
to  forward  his  will,  that  accorded  with  Armorer's 
own  temperament. 

"  Tell  me,  Mr.  Armorer."  said  Harry,  suddenly  ; 
"  in  my  place  wouldn't  you  have  done  the  same 
thin--?  " 


HARRY  LOSSING  243 

Armorer  no  longer  checked  his  sense  of  humor. 
"  No,  Mr.  Lossing,"  he  answered,  sedately,  "  I 
should  have  respected  the  old  gentleman's  wishes 
and  voted  any  way  he  pleased."  He  held  out  his 
hand.  "  I  guess  Esther  thinks  you  are  the  com- 
ing young  man  of  the  century  ;  and  to  be  honest, 
I  like  you  a  great  deal  better  than  I  expected  to 
this  morning.  I'm  not  cut  out  for  a  cruel  father, 
Mr.  Lossing ;  for  one  thing,  I  haven't  the  time 
for  it  ;  for  another  thing,  I  can't  bear  to  have  my 
little  girl  cry.  I  guess  I  shall  have  to  go  to 
Europe  without  Esther.  Shall  we  go  in  to  the 
ladies  now  ?  " 

Harry  wrung  the  president's  hand,  crying  that 
he  should  never  regret   his  kindness. 

"  See  that  Esther  never  regrets  it,  that  will  be 
better,"  said  Armorer,  with  a  touch  of  real  and 
deep  feeling.  Then,  as  Harry  sprang  up  the 
steps  like  a  boy,  he  took  out  the  note-book,  and 
smiling  a  smile  in  which  many  emotions  were 
blended,  he  ran  a  black   line   through 

"  Sec  abt  L." 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
476 


■ 


